


Any Distance Greater

by yunmin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Misunderstandings, Near Death Experiences, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Reconciliation, Rogue Squadron, Whump, new canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-12-14 03:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 78,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11774775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin
Summary: After Akiva, it was already considered a wonder that Wedge Antilles ever made it back to the cockpit.A year on from that, he almost dies in a starfighter crash. His injuries are even more severe this time. Enough that they wonder if he’ll pull through, if he’ll walk again, never mind the idea of him ever piloting again.And then in comes Luke Skywalker, the last Jedi, the man who Wedge loves and walked away from because how could they make it work? And he says he's going to stay. Stay with Wedge throughout all of this.Wedge can barely believe it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [@dollybassett’s](http://dolly-bassett.tumblr.com/) fault.
> 
> No, seriously - we were talking about Wedge one day and she got onto recovery fics and grevious bodily harm and I happened to have a four hour train journey ahead of me and went ‘okay, sure, let me just write some of this down.’ Out of those notes, this monster was born. So, it’s all her fault. Please blame her and send her your bills for tissues that may be consumed in the course of this fic. Thanks are probably also due, as always, to [@harusamemosuke](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/harusamemosuke), who always picks me up and encourages me to keep writing and has listened to more than her fair share of complaints as I pulled this out my head.
> 
> This fic is basically complete - there’s some editing and last bits of writing to be done on the end of it, but updates should be pretty regular :D The tags are intended for the whole fic, but may change as I remember things.
> 
> There are, as one might have guessed from the subject matter, depictions of medical operations and grevious injuries in this fic. As someone who is easily squicked by medical stuff themselves, I don’t think any of it is particularly graphic, but if you are also squicked by medical descriptions, please procede with caution. (I should also note that whilst care has been taken to make these injuries plausible, the depictions are not necessarily intended to be strictly accurate, and there is a great deal of handwaving and miraculous Star Wars medical technologies involved.)
> 
> The title comes from a poem in Simon Armitage’s ‘Burning Matches’ collection and the full line is _‘any distance greater than a single span requires a second pair of hands’._
> 
> This is set largely in new / disney canon, but includes a lot of old Legends references, including Wedge’s backstory with Booster Terrik, and Rogue Squadron (the team used here are from the comics). The Aftermath trilogy happened, but Norra & Wedge’s romantic relationship did not. Also, please handwave Kalonia’s age – by the time I’d thought hard enough about the numbers involved, I was most of the way through this and liked it too much to change it.

Tycho is barely out of his ship when he hears the screeching wail of a hard combat landing, and the resulting crash of the X-Wing into the far hangar wall. He momentarily wonders which of the newbies he’s going to have to chew out, then recognises the markings on the ship as Wedge’s.

He’s on the floor and running across the hangar before he can take another breath.

By some miracle, no one else was caught up in the crash. There's a tech holding everyone back, as another attacks the ship with a flame-resistant spray kept on hand for occasions just like this. No matter how much Tycho wants to get Wedge out of there, he recognises that they’re going to have a far greater problem if the ship goes up in flames.

Another tech has a set of bolt cutters, and another is firing up the laser cutter they usually use for dismantling scrap, and Tycho realises how badly the ship is twisted. “We need to get in there,” he says. The tech holding everyone back shakes his head, waiting for the all-clear. “Every second we lose—” is a second where Wedge could die, if he’s not already gone, and Tycho can’t cope; Wedge is unkillable, that’s what everyone says, and he prays for it to be true. “MEDICS!” he yells, his voice shaking with what is undeniably fear.

Tycho doesn’t stop to check that one of them heard. One of the techs gives the all clear, and the others rush forward in a flurry of action to try and get the canopy of the X-Wing open. Tycho rushes forward and no one stops him, gingerly stepping up the wrecked fuselage to the cockpit. “Wedge!” he yells. He can see a body in there. “Wedge, come on, just… move, shavit, come on!”

The canopy lifts and the closest tech leans in and checks Wedge’s pulse quicker than Tycho can think to move. “He’s alive!” they yell, “We need medical attention, now!”

Tycho surges forward, grasping one of Wedge’s hands, fingers finding a faint pulse on his wrist. The storm inside him quells, and he dares to hope. But it’s bad, he can see that much, Wedge’s limbs are twisted and his leg should not be bent that way. “Come on, Wedge,” Tycho says. “You’re stronger than this.” The techs are working away around him, cutting scorched metal that is good for nothing but scrap now. “Wedge.” A pleading note enters his voice, one that isn’t at all dignified for Rogue Squadron’s XO, but he doesn’t care.

“Tych?”

It’s faint – Tycho barely catches it above the din of the hangar – but it’s there, Wedge’s voice, rough and thin and an absolute balm to Tycho’s nervous soul.

A medic finally arrives, balancing kit on a battered piece of sheet metal. “He’s talking,” Tycho says, moving out the way, running his thumb over the back of Wedge’s hand before letting it go. “He said my name.”

“We’ll do all we can for him,” she says, but Tycho sees the doubt in her face. He knows how many casualties they’ve taken in this battle, how bad it must be in the medbay, but he knows there is nothing more that he can do.

He steps back. He’s not a medic, not a tech; this is outside his area of expertise. For a moment he just stands in the crowd, not sure what to do next. The uncertainty is threatening to pull him under. He desperately needs to do _something_ but – what?

“I’ll go with him.” Wes Janson comes up behind him, placing a hand on Tycho’s shoulder, breaking through Tycho’s increasing hysteria. “We’ve had three EV pilots, including Hobbie, I’ve got a good excuse to be down in medbay, you should probably see to the rest of the Squadron and Command will want a debrief and all that stuff that makes me really glad I’m not in charge.”

Tycho glances back to Wedge’s ship, where he can see the body of his friend being lifted out the ship and onto a waiting stretcher. But Wes, for once, is talking sense. And debriefing is something he can _do._

“Comm me the moment anything changes,” he orders, departing the hangar in the direction of High Command.

.

Dr Kalonia has had her fair share of lunatic, self-sacrificing pilots pass through her medical bay over the last few years. She’d previously pegged Wedge Antilles for being sensible and above all of that, but the past hour has radically changed her opinion.

Brought in with unknown injuries from a bad crash in the hangar, he’d been placed in one of the last beds they had – already overflowing into the corridor, such was the number of casualties they had. In minutes, Kalonia assesses that it’s bad. Multiple broken bones and fractures. But she’s not sure if there’s much she can do for him at the moment except keep him comfortable.

She instructs a nurse to get her a shot of morpha. Wedge’s face is twisted in pain, and she can do something about that.

“Tych?” she hears him mutter. “Is Hobbie okay? What about Feylis, and Xarcce?” Kalonia recognises the names as those of the Rogue’s extra-vehicular pilots, who lost their ships in the battle that has swamped her medbay.

“They’re all fine, Wedge,” she says, smoothing back his hair. He’s colder than she’d really like, and she makes a note to move him as far up the surgery list as she can, before shock becomes a legitimate concern. The nurse arrives with the morpha. Kalonia injects him with it, hoping that by the time it wears off they’ll have managed to do something about what's causing him so much pain.

“We’re out of beds,” the nurse says. “What do we do now?”

Kalonia curses under her breath. She knows they’ve still got casualties incoming, transfers from other ships without the facilities to even begin dealing with them. “Start triageing better. Anyone who can move out of here under their own power should be released to someone’s care.”

The nurse nods. She’ll deliver Kalonia’s instructions to the other medbay staff, then they’ll try and put them into action. With casualty numbers being what they are, they will still struggle to get everyone the care they deserve.

“I’m fine,” Wedge says, and Kalonia turns back to him. The Morpha must have started to set in for him to say something like that. “I’ll go, give my bed to someone else.”

She hadn’t realised he’d even overheard what they were talking about. “Shh, Wedge, it’s okay.” She brushes her hand against his cheek. He’s so young, must be younger than she is, and even though that’s still not that young he’s been fighting for so long that she could have sworn he was older. “You just rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” he mutters, again. “Get Tycho, he’ll help, I can get out of here. You need the space. I’m just taking it up.”

Kalonia presses her forefinger to her brow, thumb resting on her cheekbone, and fixes him with a stare that’s been well honed over years as a medic in a war zone. “Wedge,” she says, her tone clear and plain. “You’ve broken your pelvis and shattered your femur and possibly your tibia and I’m still not entirely convinced that you aren’t internally bleeding. You are staying right there.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, which she takes as a good sign. She sits by his side for another minute or so – catching a breath for the first time that day, it feels like – before moving on. She’ll check on him in half an hour, and then routinely after that, and hopes that he doesn’t get worse.

.

It’s Hobbie who comes up, twelve hours later, to see Tycho.

“How is he?”

Hobbie sighs. “He’s alright. He was lucky not to break his back. Did his pelvis in, and he broke that leg again,” He says, tiredly rubbing at his forehead. “Always said it was going to cause him problems in the future.”

It’s barely been a year since Wedge was cleared for active combat after injuring his leg on Akiva. He’d been reduced to hobbling about on a cane on Chandrila, training new cadets and plotting strategy. He’d hated it, and made no secret of that fact to Tycho, who’d taken temporary command of Rogue Squadron to liberate Commennor and its moons.

“He won’t like that,” Tycho says.

“Frankly, he’s lucky he’s alive.” Tycho twitches at Hobbie’s words. “It’s true. And you can remind him of it every time he complains about being grounded for the next six months.”

Tycho places his fists down on the desk. He’s supposed to be building a new squadron roster out of available pilots, get a rotation ready to relieve the current CAP – made up of volunteers – when they come off duty in an hour. But his attention keeps slipping. “I know.” He hates this bit, when they come off a mission and know there’s nothing else that can be done; that they just have to wait for other people to do their jobs. “Is he awake?”

“In and out, last I heard,” Hobbie replies. “It’s pretty bad down there. We might have had it bad, but the ground battle was worse.”

Tycho has seen the preliminary casualty lists, and they were bad enough. The real ones will be worse. “You feel up to flying?” he asks.

“Medical cleared me,” Hobbie nods. “Got lucky for once. I was barely out there for a minute before the shuttle picked me up. Xarcce’s still under, and I think they want to keep Feylis for observation?”

“You seen Wes?”

“Drafted into help medical,” Hobbie responds, with his usual look of despondency back on his face. “He smiled the wrong way at a pretty nurse, and now she’s using him as an extra set of hands.”

“I’ll leave him be, then,” Tycho says. “I need you to relieve the CAP in an hour. I’ll send you a pilot list once I’ve got it.”

.

Wedge comes to for the first time two days later in a bed in the actual medbay. He’s through one round of surgery, where Kalonia had pinned his femur back together and placed a half dozen plates in his pelvis. She’s got him scheduled for another, the scans having shown his tibia to be much worse than initially thought, so his leg has been placed in a temporary cast, and both of them are raised to alleviate the pressure on his hips.

He stirs to the sound of Wes’s voice, saying: “I think he’s awake, guys!” in his usual, excitable tone, followed by Tycho’s soothing: “Hey, Wedge, whenever you’re ready.”

He opens his eyes and finds the entirety of Rogue Squadron sitting around his bed. He blinks, just to make sure he’s not hallucinating. When he opens his eyes again, they’re all still there.

Wait. Correction. All of Rogue Squadron, and a concerned looking Temmin Wexley, who’s perched on the end of his bed. The boy notices Wedge’s eyes focus on him.

“Mum says to tell you that you really need to learn how to get out your ship without seriously damaging yourself,” he says.

“Nice to see you too, Snap,” Wedge says, noting the smiles that grace the rest of the Rogue’s faces. “Tell Norra she’s probably right.”

Snap nods, looking satisfied at having got his piece in before the rest of Rogue Squadron can storm in. “How are you feeling?” Tycho asks.

“I’m okay,” Wedge says.

That’s a lie; he must feel awful. He certainly looks it. The skin around his eyes is pinched taught, a grimace on his face as he attempts to hide the amount of pain he’s in. His complexion is ashen, except the dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks are thin – and they’re too thin for a day or two in the medbay, even if he did almost die. He must have been losing weight before this.

On reflection, Snap thinks that he looks worse than he did on Akiva. And there he’d been held by the Imps for days and physically _tortured_.

“How’s the mission going?” Wedge asks. Snap observes Tycho, Wes and Hobbie give each other long-suffering looks.

“Fine, boss.” Hobbie’s tone is unconvincing.

Wedge furrows his brown, frowning. He’s clearly doesn’t believe Hobbie -- but even if things were fine, Wedge likely wouldn't believe it until he saw it with his own two eyes. “We’re managing, Wedge,” Tycho says. “We might be a pilot down, but that’s better than most. High Command have reinforcements incoming. I’m handing it.”

Tycho fixes Wedge with a hard look that almost rivals Kalonia’s. “I want to be kept apprised of any major developments,” Wedge says, a stubborn note entering his voice.

“Fine.”

Tycho steps back. He has no intentions of pushing the issue any further, not when Wedge still looks so vulnerably in his hospital bed. Instantly Wes surges forward into his place, flanked by Plourr Illo, who has the sort of long suffering look on her face that indicates trouble is about to go down. “So, I figured that cause you’re going to be in here a while, we---” Wes sweeps his hand round, while everyone else’s faces plead innocence in the matter, “would bring you someone to keep you company.”

Wes produces a small, stuffed, toy Ewok from behind his back. He places it on Wedge’s chest, so that the toy’s eyes are looking up at Wedge.

“His name is Kettch,” Wes pronounces, as if Wedge cares.

Wedge instantly flicks his eyes to the right, searching someone out. “Kalonia!” he calls, voice surprisingly strong.

A woman Tycho recognises as the Chief Medical Officer stops in her path. “What is it, Wedge?”

“Do you have any need of an extra pair of strong hands?” Wedge asks. “Lifting, sorting inventory, all those tasks that are piling up because no one wants to do them?”

Wes’s face falls.

Kalonia, hands on hips, looks the entirety of Rogue Squadron over. “I could find something, if these miscreants can’t find anything better to do.” From the look on her face, Tycho would say that her reputation for sternness was well earned. “And if you’re bothering my patient, the lot of you will have to go.”

Tycho checks his chrono. “We need to be moving, anyway,” he says, viewing ten disappointed faces. “Sorry guys.”

They grumble good-naturedly as they say their goodbyes and well-wishes to Wedge before leaving. Tycho is the last-but-one, and he tossles Wedge’s hair before leaning in and whispering: “You get better, okay? You gave me a right scare.” Wedge just nods. Tycho’s not entirely happy about leaving him, but needs must, and Snap is staying – his squadron has been stood down until someone can work out what to do with the half-dozen pilots that remain of it – and Kalonia’s close by. He’ll be fine.

.

Tycho was right to be worried. Wedge, not content with crashing his ship into the hangar wall, seems intent on working himself into the ground. He’s not even allowed to sit up, and Kalonia has him on a diet of sedatives so heavy that Tycho’s surprised that Wedge can think straight, but… Tycho keeps getting to piles of datawork and finding that it’s already been signed, or going to make arrangements with other squadrons only to find them already out on exercises.

Tycho’s not even sure that any of the datawork is legally viable, given that Wedge is effectively _high_ , but it doesn’t seem to be bothering anyone.

“Anyone worked out how he’s doing it?” Tycho asks at the next briefing.

“I think he’s bribing the nurses,” Wes quips. There’s a moment of silence as they all consider that, before half of them collapse into giggles at the thought of _Wedge_ doing such a thing.

Plourr sighs. “I think he’s sliced into the ship's main computers and is using override codes on the astromechs.”

“Isn’t that a little technical for Wedge?” Beruss asks.

“At this point I’m not discounting it,” Tycho replies. Suddenly a knock sounds on the ready room door. “Come in!” Tycho yells, and a nurse he recognises from all the hours they’ve been spending in the medbay walks in.

“Captain Celchu?” She’s wringing her hands. “Can you come with me, please?”

She doesn’t need to say anything; it has to be Wedge. Tycho glances back at the squadron, but Hobbie’s making shooing motions with his hands. Tycho goes, following the nurse quickly through the corridors towards the medbay.

They come to a halt outside the operating theatre. Tycho is about to ask if he can go in, when a distressed looking Doctor Kalonia comes out, stripping a pair of gloves off her hands. “Tycho.” The use of his first name unnerves him even further.

“What happened?”

It takes every piece of his composure to stay standing there, and not tear into the theatre to see for his own eyes if Wedge is – if his friend is even still alive. His fear must show in his face, because Kalonia hastily clarifies. “He’s alive. I’ve had to readjust most of the plates that were pinning his pelvis together, and he almost went into shock, but we managed to pull him back. And I did a lot of the work we were planning to do to his leg while I was at it. He’s stable again, though it was touch and go for a bit. But he’s in bad shape.” Her lips purse, folding into an uneasy line. “I want to believe he’ll pull through this, but with how suddenly everything changed…” She trails off. “If he has any family, I’d be in touch with them.”

Tycho grits his teeth. The only family Wedge has – outside of the Squadron, anyway – is Mirax Terrik, and Tycho has no idea where to even begin in getting hold of her. Outside that… Tycho shakes his head. “There isn't anyone,” he says. Not anyone who could legitimately be pulled away from their other preoccupations in the galaxy, as Wedge has made clear enough on previous occasions. “Is that why I’m here?”

Kalonia looks apologetic. “I need someone to sign off various things. Wedge is in no shape to do it himself.”

“I’ll do it.”

Tycho spends the next hour filing the requisite datawork, mind working on auto-pilot through the medical jargon, what he’s happy to have happen if Wedge stops breathing. He doesn’t want to think about it too hard. While that’s happening, medical wheel Wedge out, and back to an open bed. Kalonia’s right. He looks _awful_. His skin has faded to grey, and there’s almost no sign of life. Medical hook him up to various assorted drips and monitors, all of which Tycho hopes will put a little colour back in Wedge’s skin. He goes over, spends five minutes in the chair by Wedge’s bedside, just holding his friend’s hand and praying to a power he hasn’t believed in since Alderaan that Wedge will make it.

After dropping the datawork back in Kalonia’s office, Tycho decides he needs to go and see the squadron. He owes them an update on Wedge’s condition. Because it’s been hours, and imaginations are going to be running wild, and despite everything Wedge is _alive,_ and that’s worth holding onto.

He’s not looking where he’s going and almost stumbles straight into someone in dark clothes. Looking up, he finds that Luke Skywalker is standing in front of him. “Hello Tycho,” he says. “I was just coming to find you and the other Rogues. How are things going?”

The man is wearing a smile on his face. There’s no possible way he could look that cheerful if he knew the truth. That Wedge is in the medbay, fighting for his life. And Tycho is going to have to break the news to him. “Wedge—” Tycho says, struggling to string the words together. He pauses, a lump in his throat, blocking any of the words he means to say.

“Yes, I’d like to see Wedge,” Luke says.

Tycho fights through his discomfort. It’s not like he understands this thing that Luke and Wedge have between them, but he knows that they care for each other and that Luke isn’t going to take this well. “Luke, Wedge is in the medbay,” he forces out. Luke’s face falls, despair crossing his features as he fears for the worst. “It’s pretty bad. He’s alive,” because that needs saying, “but he took a turn for the worse and they’re worried about him and he could do with a Jedi in this corner.”

Luke’s face doesn’t betray the emotions it did when Tycho first met the man. Now they are usually hidden behind a mantle of Jedi calm, but his mask has slipped this time; there’s pain all across his face. “Take me to him,” he asks, and Tycho is stunned by how much it sounds like a plea.

“This way, boss.”

.

Luke is struck by how pale Wedge is.

That’s not the first thing he notices, but it’s the thing that hits him the hardest. When he and Tycho reach the medbay, the doctor – Kalonia, Tycho says her name is – and a medical droid are busying around him, moving his limbs, elevating his hips. One of his knees is bent, foot planted firmly back on the bed, whilst the other leg is covered with a makeshift cast. Kalonia drapes a blanket over him, smoothing down the edges with a touch that betrays how worried she is.

Tycho claps a hand on Luke’s shoulder and says: “I’ve got to go see the Squadron. You stay with him. Is there anyone I should make your excuses too?”

Luke shakes his head, not trusting his words. He sees that Kalonia is done, moving away, so he moves into the space she’s vacated, pulling up a chair alongside Wedge’s bed.

Wedge is almost as pale as the white sheets he lies upon, his dark hair fanning out across the pillow in stark contrast. Beside him is a stuffed toy – an Ewok, Luke notes, with some sense of amusement – and it only helps make Wedge look even younger than his twenty-eight years. Luke takes one of Wedge’s hands, the one that doesn’t have an IV line fastened to it, and grasps it firmly. There’s no response from Wedge, who remains limp in the bed. His hand is cold and clammy, even grasped between both of Luke’s hands and held tight.

Curious, Luke reaches out with the force, wondering quite how bad it is. There’s so much broken and in need of repair and Luke wants to try and nudge things back into alignment, help Wedge on his way, but he’s still trying to work out this whole healing thing, and now is not the time to be experimenting. So he leaves it be, and trusts that Kalonia knows what she’s doing.

“Oh, Wedge,” Luke mutters, words falling out on a long breath. He lifts Wedge’s hand, bringing it up towards his lips, and brushes a kiss across Wedge’s knuckles. “What have you done to yourself?”

He sits there, for goodness knows how long, monitoring Wedge through the force and holding his hand and hoping that he does turn out to be alright.

“He’s not going to wake up,” a voice says, and Luke turns sharply. Kalonia is behind him, hovering in a nervous fashion. “We’ve dosed him with enough sedative to take down a bantha. Should keep him under for a while. Though we’re almost out.”

“There are supplies coming,” Luke says. “The rest of the relief ships, they’re only a day out.” He turns back to Wedge. “He’ll make it until then.”

Luke doesn’t allow a trace of doubt to enter his voice. He knows this to be true, the Force tells him that it will be all right, and that she knows he’d fight a thousand battles with her if she lets Wedge die.

(That will be unnecessary, because for some strange reason, the Force – not that Luke’s quite willing to grant it sentience just yet – seems rather fond of Wedge. Which is good, because Luke is rather fond of him too.)

“You’re sure about that?” Kalonia asks. “The relief ships, I mean,” she clarifies.

Luke nods. “The bridge should have an arrival time for them. But they’re definitely coming.”

A wave of tension and stress evaporates off Kalonia. “Thank goodness,” she says. “With Bacta?” she queries, and Luke nods again. “I can get him in a Bacta tank then. That’ll take him out of any immediate danger, and then I can cast up his leg properly.”

Luke glances towards Wedge’s legs, already placed in an interesting fashion. “We’ve got him in a temporary cast, at the moment,” she explains. “We’ve done a lot of work trying to realign the bones, but it’s a mess.”

“He’s broke it before,” Luke says, before realising that Kalonia almost certainly knows that.

“It would be a mess without that, but it isn’t helping,” she admits. “I’m less concerned about his leg, I’ll be honest, and more worried about the unstable fractures above his hips.” Then she shakes her head. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with all this. It’s good he has someone, though. Tycho and the Rogues have been trying, but they have other responsibilities.”

There’s an edge to her tone that is questioning, and Luke can’t blame her; he couldn’t tell her the answer to the question of what he and Wedge mean to each other.

“I’ll do what I can,” Luke says.

“He’s getting better,” Kalonia says. “His blood pressure is steadily going back up, his pulse has levelled out; the signs are positive. We just have to wait.”

Luke has never been good at waiting.

.

Wedge stirs to a world of hurt.

The pain is so absolute and complete that he doesn’t know where to start with describing it. He’s exhausted and his brain is foggy and he tries to open his eyes. The bright lights of the medbay blind him. He lets out a moan that’s half a mumble, and suddenly there’s someone there, a hand brushing through his hair.

“Shh,” they say. “Shhhuussshhh, Wedge, go back to sleep.” That’s – that’s Luke’s voice, Wedge is sure, and why is Luke here? He forces his eyes open and it is Luke, bending over him, blue eyes filled with concern.

“Luke—” Wedge manages to say, still confused, through the haze of the pain and medication.

“Close your eyes,” Luke says. “Come on, Wedge. You don’t need to be awake.”

Wedge does as Luke says because he can barely keep his eyes open anyway. The pain starts to ebb, and Wedge isn’t sure whether Luke’s doing something about that through the Force or whether he’s just pushed more pain relief into his system.

He can feel Luke’s hands though, pressing around his shoulders and smoothing the blankets over him. A kiss is pressed to his forehead, and Luke says, “You sleep easy, love,” and Wedge loses consciousness.

The next time he wakes, it’s easier. Everything still hurts, limbs aching and he’s aware of his own fragility, but it’s not as sharp as it was. He can’t forget about the pain, but it’s being held back by a steady drip of painkillers.

He opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the medbay lights, which are always too strong for his liking. The ceiling greets him, blank and white and expressionless. There’s an IV line attached to his arm, Wedge notes, and half a dozen other things he doesn’t recognise wired up to him, and when he looks down there are blankets draped awkwardly over a casted leg, and he’s aware that everything is at a slightly odd angle.

Glancing to one side, he realises that his request to have Wes’s gift removed and destroyed has been denied, because Kettch is sitting beside him on the pillow. Glancing to the other side, he notices that there’s someone in the chair at his bedside. It takes Wedge longer than we would like to admit to recognise them, especially given that it’s Tycho.

“Tych?” Wedge mutters, voice raspy from disuse.

Tycho stirs in the chair at the sound of Wedge’s voice. He must have been dozing, only lightly.

“You’re awake,” he says, a smile coming over his face. “Oh, you daft bugger, you’re awake, thank goodness.”

Tycho’s delight is such that Wedge must have been out for longer than he thought. He doesn’t remember much, just awful hideous pain. “How long—” was I out?, Wedge means to ask, but Tycho shushes him.

“Don’t talk. You’ve been out a week; Kalonia had you under sedation for thirty-six hours following the surgery, then you spent a couple of days in a Bacta Tank, and then the last few unconscious as she waited for you to wake up on your own. It got pretty bad, Wedge,” Tycho says, in a soft voice. “We almost lost you.”

Wedge takes a moment to think, trying to recollect the last thing he can clearly remember. He was attempting to put together a new squadron, one formed from the remnants of Snap’s, and then everything had gone dizzy, his breath dropping away. He’d collapsed in Kalonia’s arms, and he can hear her screaming for help, echoing at the edges of his memory.

And he remembers waking, to the most immense pain, with a soft voice soothing him back to sleep. But that _must_ have been a dream, because Luke is halfway across the Galaxy right now. He’s not an unusual presence in Wedge’s dreams: it makes a worrying amount of sense that, on the edge of death, Wedge’s mind would reach for Luke.

“I dreamed…” Wedge says, but he can see why Tycho told him not to talk; it’s rough, but the words are coming anyway, “…Luke was here.”

“You dreamed?” Tycho has a smirk on his face, the sort of self-satisfied one he gets when he manages to beat Wedge in the simulators or get one over on Wes. “He did say you’d surfaced for a moment last night. I’m surprised you remember it though.”

Wedge emits a questioning noise, not quite believing what he’s hearing. Luke can’t be— he isn’t here, he wouldn’t have come across the Galaxy and said those things.

“He’ll be back soon enough,” Tycho says. “We’ve been taking shifts, making sure you aren’t alone.” He pauses. “You should rest. I’ll make sure he wakes you when he comes down. I should go and tell Kalonia you’re up and coherent.”

Wedge wants to protest; he’s spent the last week sleeping, he doesn’t need anymore of it, he needs to know why Luke is here and how the squadron are and when he can get out of here. But the moment Tycho suggests it, he can hear the whisper of sleep calling back to him.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Wedge,” Tycho says, standing up, patting the back of Wedge’s hand.

.

Luke watches as Kalonia performs her daily check-up routine. It half consists of checking the things that are constantly monitored – his heart rate, blood pressure, etc. – and half her prodding and poking at his injuries, attempting to work out what’s healing and what isn’t.

Wedge’s stay in the bacta tank had cleared up the worst of the life-threatening stuff; he’s no longer bleeding internally, and the worst of the spinal damage is fixed, and the pelvic fractures are on their way to healing. But he’s still got a long way to go. One of his legs is casted from his toes to his hip, and there’s a complicated contraption Luke doesn’t want to investigate too closely pinning his pelvis together.

Luke has official duties; he came out to the fleet to help negotiate a truce to end the war that put Wedge in the medbay, but he’s spending every spare moment he can catch in the chair by Wedge’s bedside, keeping Wedge company.

He’s spending a lot of the time asleep, which Kalonia informs Luke is a good thing. His body needs rest in order to heal itself. He’s asleep now, in fact, head turned into the stuffed Ewok toy Luke is told is named Kettch, hair sticking out at odd angles. Luke keeps having to resist the urge to reach out and smooth in down, make his friend look like the man he knows again.

When Wedge is awake, it’s clear he’s in a lot of pain. Kalonia’s trying to reduce his reliance on heavy-duty painkillers, before he ends up with an addiction and an all-too high tolerance for them, which Luke thinks is sensible enough. But it means that Wedge spends most of his time awake white as a sheet, clutching at the nearest thing he can find – often Luke’s hand, or Kettch – and gritting his teeth. There isn’t much Luke can do, except stay and try and push some calm onto Wedge, and tell him stories about all the adventures he’s had while he’s been away.

“How much longer is he going to be like this?” Luke asks Kalonia, a week in, after the ceasefire has been negotiated and the council is starting to conspire about what crisis they could send Luke to solve next. He’s worried about Wedge, too, who doesn’t seem to have improved much since he first woke up.

Kalonia looks down at Wedge, who’s fast asleep, hands clutching at the edge of the blanket that’s draped over him. “What do you mean, like this?”

“Incapacitated,” Luke says. “Injured. In pain. Do the specifics matter?”

Kalonia sighs. “They do,” she says, but she doesn’t seem in want of further illumination. “I’m going to keep him here for at least another week, see how he goes; I want those unstable pelvic fractures to heal a little more before I even consider moving him. And then he’ll still be on bed-rest for another month, I would think. After that, it’ll be a lot of physical therapy to try and get him back on his feet. That’s not going to be pretty.”

Luke nods, gentle. He reaches out and clasps one of Wedge’s hands, thumb rubbing circles into Wedge’s wrist. Kalonia notes the tension lines around Wedge’s eyes, signs of distress, and how they slowly evaporate away under Luke’s touch. Not for the first time, she wonders that’s between this pilot and the Jedi, and whether they’re more than just old squadron mates.

“Wait,” Luke says. “You said to keep him here for another week. Where would you send him after that?”

“A Republic medical base. Probably Chandrila, as they already know him there.” Kalonia can see the question forming on Luke’s lips before it’s expressed. “We don’t have the facilities to care for him here. We’re set up to deal with major trauma incidents, not months of recovery and physical therapy. He should be off this ship to somewhere that’s capable of giving him the care he deserves.”

Luke doesn’t look particularly pleased about that idea, but it’s Kalonia’s decision to make, not his. She knows what’s best for him, even as much as she knows that Luke being here has helped immeasurably.

.

Out of the medbay for the first time in forty-eight hours, Kalonia is intent on getting some actual food from the mess, and maybe visiting a refresher that isn’t the size of a broom cupboard tacked onto the nurse’s quarters. Wedge Antilles is in the capable hand of her second, with Master Skywalker at his bedside. Kalonia has learnt that Luke isn’t about to let anything happen to Wedge on his watch.

She’s halfway to the mess when Tycho Celchu runs in to her. Literally. “Sorry,” he says on instinct, before he looks at who he’s just collided with. “Oh. Dr Kalonia. Sorry about that.”

He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and is almost pale enough to deserve a spot in her medbay. “You look exhausted, young man,” she tells him.

“Yeah, well, even with the truce I’m working double shifts. Wedge’s job hasn’t just evaporated because he’s unable to do it.”

“You should get some rest,” Kalonia says. She knows he’s not getting enough; if he’s working double-shifts, he has to be spending half his rest period in the medbay. That’s not sustainable. If he doesn’t start looking better, she’ll have to ban him from the medbay. Between Luke and Snap and the rest of the Rogues, it’s not like Wedge is spending much time alone these days.

“It’s fine.” Tycho waves her off. “It’ll be better once everything’s rearranged properly and Wedge is better. Then I’ll have less on my plate.”

“You’ll be waiting a while for that,” Kalonia says.

Tycho pauses, shocked. “I thought he was getting better? Don’t tell me he’s got worse again.”

She shakes her head. “No, no nothing like that. But this was never going to be a short term recovery, Tycho.”

“But—” Tycho is wearing an odd look on his face, like he’s rearranging his whole world view. “We knew it was bad, but it’s Wedge. We figured he’d be up and about soon enough and yeah, he wouldn’t be flying, but he’d be keeping our asses in line from a desk and planning missions.”

“He won’t be doing that,” Kalonia says. “Not for at least a year, I think, maybe more.”

Tycho suddenly looks very pale and small. “Will he…” and he trails off, clearing his throat. “Will he walk again?” His eyes flash with sudden realisation, and Kalonia had thought it odd that none of them had asked this before; clearly, they’d all just assumed that he’d be able to shake this latest injury off as if it was nothing.

“Yes,” Kalonia says. “I think his chances are very good, especially if he gets away from here and sees a top-notch physical therapist and gets the amount of rest he needs.”

“You’re sending him away?” Kalonia nods. Tycho pauses, biting the inside of his cheek as he hesitates. “… Have you told him that?”

“Not yet,” Kalonia admits. She’s been waiting for a chance to get him on his own, in a period where he’s conscious and coherent and not bowled over by intense pain or the fog of medication.

“You should,” Tycho says. “He won’t take it well.”

“An emergency medical centre on board a capital ship that is frequently in active combat zones is no place for a man with injuries as severe as his.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Tycho replies. “But you’ll have a hard time convincing him of that fact.”

.

A day later, Kalonia gets given her opportunity on her last set of rounds of the day.

Luke Skywalker – and that man has practically moved into the medbay, now that his job is done, leaving only very occasionally to eat and speak to his sister about whatever duties he’s supposed to be doing – is asleep in his usual chair, and Wedge is regarding him with that impossibly fond expression; the one where Kalonia thinks he’s still not convinced that Luke is real and by his side throughout all of this.

(Kalonia can understand that. If you’d told her before all this that the last Jedi would be spending every bit of his spare time in the medbay, nursing one injured pilot back to health, she wouldn’t have believed you. But it’s happening right in front of her eyes.)

“How’s today gone?” she asks, changing his IV line. It’s best to keep him talking throughout the process of her doing the check-up, she’s found, or have Luke or Tycho or someone on hand to distract him, otherwise he gets dreadfully uncomfortable and fidgety and that’s no good for anyone.

“Okay,” he says. “Pain comes and goes. I’m getting slightly sick of this bed.”

“I’m afraid we’re stepping down your painkillers again tomorrow,” Kalonia says. “Just to see how it goes. If it gets too bad we’ll take them back up again, but that would take you down to a level I feel comfortable sustaining for a reasonable length of time.”

“That sounds fun,” Wedge says, a sarcastic edge entering his voice.

“And while you likely won’t be pleased that you’re going to be on bed rest for another month, you will at least get a change of scenery.” She says it quickly, hoping that Wedge will just accept and take it.

“Are you planning on redecorating?” Wedge asks.

Kalonia looks at him, and realises that while he’s joking, he definitely hasn’t taken in what she actually meant.

“No,” she says, with a sigh. “We’re moving you. Sometime next week, probably. The medical centre on Chandrila has a bed set aside for you.”

She sees the realisation dawn on his face, the flash of horror in his eyes. “No,” he says. “No. I’m not going. I belong here, with my squadron.”

“You belong in a centre that can give you the medical attention you require.” Kalonia crosses her arms, prepared for a fight. “Your pelvis will take at least another month of bed rest to heal. As will your shattered femur and broken tibia. After that, you might be able to move about a bit, but you’ll be relearning how to walk from scratch. It’s going to be painful.” He opens his mouth and she continues anyway. “I know you’ve done this before. It’s going to be worse this time. There’s no way round that. Your injuries are far worse, and I know you’re not old, but you won’t bounce back the same way you did when you were nineteen.”

“I’m not an idiot. I know that,” Wedge replies. “You’ve taken excellent care of me so far. I don’t see why I can’t stay here.”

“Wedge, you nearly died,” Kalonia points out. “Not from your initial injuries, but from you aggravating them and us not having adequate resources to treat you. And this is not a rehabilitation centre!”

Wedge narrows his eyebrows. “I don’t care. I can do things just as well here as I could on Chandrila. I’m no use to anyone there. I am here.”

“Commander Antilles!” Kalonia’s tone is harsher than she intended, startling Wedge, as does the use of his rank. “I am the Chief Medical Officer on board this ship. If I make a recommendation about the nature of your medical care, I expect it to be obeyed. Or I will make it a legitimate order.”

“Chief Medical Officer Kalonia,” Wedge replies, defaulting to her rank. “This is the third time I have damaged my leg badly enough to require ongoing rehabilitation. I know what I’m kriffing doing. And I am not going back to Chandrila.”

“Fine!” Kalonia throws her hands up in the air. “There are other rehabilitation centres that the New Republic has connections with. I can send you there. How does Hosnian Prime sound?”

“Kriff off!” And here Wedge raises his voice for the first time in the conversation, cursing at her. It’s the sort of behaviour Kalonia usually doesn’t allow in her medbay. “I’m not leaving everyone I kriffing know behind again for—” He stops, and looks at her. “How long this time?”

“A year, at least, most likely,” Kalonia says. She softens her voice, aware that this is hard for him to hear. “That’s the recommendation I’m going to give, at least, and I know you’ve beaten those before, but I would be surprised if you were fit to serve before then.” If at all, she thinks, but that’s a subject to be broached much further down the line, once Wedge is up and walking again.

Wedge sits still on the bed, taking it all in. It’s clear that he’s displeased with the idea. “I don’t want to go,” he says, finally, in a weak voice.

Kalonia finds her heart breaking for him. “I understand. I do,” she adds, when he shoots her a suspicious look. “This is a difficult thing to do. I promise I wouldn’t be doing this if I could think of another way for you to get the care you need.”

Wedge flicks his eyes to Luke, who has somehow stayed asleep throughout this entire affair. “Is there anything else you could do?”

Kalonia sighs, sitting down on the edge of Wedge’s bed, carefully avoiding his legs. “You don’t have any family, do you?” He shakes his head. “That’s the only other thing I’d do; release you to the care of your next-of-kin, and set up a schedule of appointments with the local medical facilities. But I don’t think that’s an option in your case. I’m sorry. I wish it could be.”

She’s not really sure what she’s apologising for; that she can’t give him the option of care alongside people he loves, or whether she’s apologising for the fact that this man is twenty-eight and an orphan with no ties to anyone but his squadron.

“Me too,” Wedge mutters, so softly that she almost misses it. He’s clutching at the sheets again, knuckles white, studying Luke like the man provides the answers to Wedge’s personal salvation. It’s a sure sign that he’s feeling the pain again.

“You’re due another dose of meds in half-an-hour,” Kalonia says. She places a hand on top of his casted leg, willing some comfort to the poor boy. “Do you want me to wake him?”

She nods her head in Luke’s direction. Wedge shakes his head. “No. It’s okay. Let him sleep,” he says, at the same time as Luke stirs and mumbles: “I’m awake.”

“Luke, sleep,” Wedge says, just as Luke opens his eyes and reaches out for Wedge. Kalonia smiles, watching them for a moment. It’s quite something to see Skywalker – the man who blew up the first Death Star, who took down Palpatine and Vader – be so gentle, so caring, even immediately from waking.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Kalonia says. Luke’s fussing over Wedge’s hair, and they’re both thoroughly distracted. “Wedge. We’ll talk about this later.”

Wedge momentarily looks away from Luke to respond, “Yes. Okay.” And with that, she makes a sharp exit.

.

Enlisting the help of Rogue Squadron, Kalonia eventually manages to bring Wedge round to the idea that he is going to have to go somewhere for rehabilitation, and that Chandrila is the best option. After explaining everything in a briefing to them – and that had been odd, standing up in front of a group of pilots in the ready-room – they’d proved surprisingly effective.

Especially Hobbie Klivian, who’d spent a solid two hours by Wedge’s bedside documenting every single time Wedge had sent him away to recover on medical leave, and that he should take his own bloody damn advice for once.

Luke Skywalker, since his initial displeasure at the idea of Wedge being sent away, has not said another word on the subject to anyone. He’s still here, which is confusing enough – surely the man has other responsibilities? Not that it’s any of Kalonia’s business. But she’s still confused about exactly what his relationship with Wedge is, and has thought – just for a second – about approaching him and asking if he could go with Wedge, before dismissing it as foolish.

She wishes it wasn’t though. Because Wedge might have agreed to it, but it still doesn’t mean he’s happy with the idea. Just that he’s resigned to the reality of it.

Kalonia would like him to be happy. He’s a man who seems to deserve that much.

.

Wedge claws his hands into the sheets, nails scraping across cotton for purchase, looking for anything to distract him from the immense pain.

Kalonia had said this would be simple. That she could remove the external fixators without resorting to surgery, and get this infernal contraption off Wedge’s hips. She’d said it would hurt.

That had been an understatement.

This isn’t the constant, low-level ache of pain that has been an accompaniment to Wedge’s every waking moment since he crashed his ship. It doesn’t even come close to the sharper re-awakenings, his limbs protesting as Kalonia moves them whilst doing her daily check-ups.

It’s agony.

Screaming, pinching agony, burning through him, turning every inch of his composure to shreds. And she’s barely started. Wedge keeps flinching away from the pain, no matter how she tries to hold him down. It’s just them, one-on-one. He’d agreed with Kalonia’s suggestion. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him like this.

There are no nerve blockers, and there’s only the slightest amount of pain medication running through his system. The downside to doing it while he was awake is that he needs to be fully responsive to anything Kalonia might do to him.

And it hurts.

She moves something, and it sends another spasm of pain straight up Wedge’s spine. Far worse than the last one. He screws his eyes shut, blinking away the tears that are gathering. “Wedge, relax,” Kalonia’s voice comes, soft and gentle. “This will be worse and last longer the more you move, I’m sorry.”

He tries, loosens his hands out the sheets, and takes a deep breath, trying to remember what Luke has tried to teach him about centering himself and resisting pain. Within moments, he’s reaching out again, hand coming to bear on Kettch, who’s still about, becoming more ragged day by day as Wedge clings to the toy. He yelps, then remembers what she'd said, and tries to keep still.

“What in hell’s name are you doing to him?”

Wedge opens his eyes. Luke is standing across the medbay, a shocked angry expression on his face. Fuck. He’s not supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be in a meeting, that’s why they’re doing this now.

“It’s fine,” Wedge chokes out between the waves of pain. “Just go…”

A tear slips out down his face and Wedge curses because Luke isn’t going to leave after that, and Wedge has never wanted Luke to see him like this.

“I can feel your distress from the bridge,” Luke says. “You aren’t fine.”

Wedge knows that Luke’s abilities with the force allow him to pick up on other people’s feelings, but he had no idea that the range was that extensive. He’d thought it limited to a room, maybe a little further if Luke had a definite connection with another person – with Leia, for example, bound by blood and their abilities in the force. They’d taken Luke out the medbay for this precise reason, thinking that the bridge was far enough away. Apparently, it wasn’t.

He wants – he wants the comfort that Luke can provide, the hope that he might make everything stop, but he’s afraid to take it. Luke isn’t always going to be here. He can’t keep using the man like a crutch.

“Get over here Luke,” Kalonia says, breaking through Wedge’s thoughts. “I need you to keep him calm. You can do that?”

Luke strides over towards Wedge. “I can.” He lays his hand over Wedge’s, giving it a squeeze. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here.” He runs his other hand over Wedge’s forehead, moving down to cup Wedge’s cheek, running a thumb over Wedge’s cheekbone. It comes away wet.

And then, as soon as Wedge has relaxed into the touch, Luke has taken it away. Wedge turns his head, wanting to chase Luke, wanting the comfort back. Then there’s a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think you could lean forward?” Luke asks.

Wedge looks to Kalonia, who nods. She must have gathered what Luke is intending. So he does so, helped by Luke, and then the pillows he’d been leaning on are gone and Luke has slipped into their place. “Lean back, now,” Luke whispers, and Wedge finds himself enveloped in a circle of warmth and comfort, Luke’s strong chest behind his back. One of Luke’s arms has come round Wedge’s chest, pulling him back against Luke, while Luke uses the other to take Wedge’s hand, threading their fingers together.

Kalonia gives him a moment to get settled, then starts again. The pain is back, sharp as ever – not that it had ever rescinded, but it’s now sharp and fresh and biting, making him feel all torn up inside. He clutches at Luke's hand, squeezing as hard as he can manage, biting down against the pain.

A kiss is pressed to his hair. “I’m here,” Luke says, softly, and Wedge leans into the offered touch, and the distraction it offers. He lets the tears flow freely now, realising that there’s no point in fighting them.

“Hey,” Luke says, slightly louder. “Can I try something?” He must get a nod from Kalonia, because he continues. “Wedge, relax, and don’t fight me on this.” Wedge squirms in Luke’s arms, wondering what’s going on, and then he feels a presence pushing at the back of his mind.

“ _Luke?_ ” Wedge thinks, and gets a positive flood of emotion back, a warmth and reassurance from right inside his head. It’s an odd sensation, but not entirely unwelcome. “ _What are you doing?_ _”_ he thinks, clear as he can, hoping that they can communicate in this way.

“Helping,” Luke’s voice says – weird, that, because Wedge can sense the intention behind the words before he hears them. “Give me a— Got it.”

Suddenly, the pain vanishes.

Well – it doesn’t, completely, he can still feel that Kalonia is moving things, but it’s no longer as sharp, doesn’t drive him to the brink of destruction and make him consider tearing up the entire galaxy to stop the pain. And it’s not dulled in a fog, like with the painkillers, that numb him to almost no sensation when they’re working properly.

No. Not like that. This is just – less. The pain has been dialled back, to manageable levels.

“What did you do?” Kalonia asks. The question is clearly not addressed to Wedge, so he mostly ignores it, relishing the warm embrace of Luke and the reassurance than keeps poking at the back of his head.

“Dialled everything down with a Jedi trick. He can still feel everything – as can I, so don’t worry – it’s just less. You okay there, Wedge?” Luke punctuates the question with a squeeze of Wedge’s hand, and another kiss dropped to the top of his head.

“I’m good,” Wedge says back, and for the first time since the accident, actually means it. Everything’s so clear now. He wonders if this is how Luke feels all the time, if he’s constantly shifting his registration of the world as he needs to? It’s quite something to imagine.

Kalonia works quickly, now that Wedge is calm and relaxed, deftly removing the wires and fastenings that have pinned the plates in Wedge’s hips in place. Wedge doesn't look – he doesn’t want to know what everything looks like down there, other than a mess, and it’s weird enough having Luke in his head without also looking at Kalonia doing something that might not be surgery but it feels close enough to it on him while he’s awake. And it’s all fine, Luke’s Jedi trick working until Kalonia reaches the last plate, and then—

“Fuck,” Luke says, jolting.

Wedge screams.

Luke’s gone and his body empties out of the flush of warmth and fills with sharp, shredding pain, firing across every neuron in his brain, unbearable and searing. He tries to curl up and shield himself against it, but there are firm hands on his hips and others around his shoulders and he can hear voices talking around him but he can’t focus on anything but the pain.

There's a nudging at the back of his brain once again but Wedge lashes out against it, against any intrusion, because this hurts so much and he thought it was bad before but that was nothing. That was one single solitary burning star, and now there are thousands of constellations lighting up his insides, burning every nerve he has to shreds.

“Wedge, Wedge,” Wedge hears Luke call, but it’s overridden by a spasm of pain that makes him jolt upwards. He’s tugged close into Luke’s arms, his back against Luke’s thigh, a knee at his waist; a forearm wraps around his chest and presses him down, fingers curving round the ball of his shoulder. Wedge tries to focus on that instead. Someone’s doing something down by his hips, pressing at the most sensitive points, sending short shock waves up across his body. It’s cold and sharp, and then there’s fabric pressed against, and then – tape, rustling as Kalonia tears off pieces and presses it against the fabric covering. Covering up the wounds.

“We’re done,” a voice says – Kalonia, it must be. “Prep me an IV line and a dose of sedative. I’m going to get some morpha.”

A hand smooths over Wedge’s hair, cupping his jaw, stroking away the dampness left by a trail of tears. “Wedge,” Luke says. “It’s okay, love. It’s over. We’re done.” Wedge forces his eyes open and finds himself staring up into Luke’s blue eyes, that are bright and unfailing, and full of concern. And there’s that word again, the one that he used before but Wedge swore he’d hallucinated, because there’s no reason for Luke to be calling him love. “Hey,” Luke says. “I’m so sorry. I lost my concentration, and slipped from your head. My fault. They’re bringing you something now.”

“Not your fault,” Wedge mutters, turning his face into the warmth of Luke’s hold. He manages to bring a hand up to grip the material of Luke’s shirt and tug him closer. Luke, realising Wedge’s intentions, leans in, pulling Wedge tight against his chest and wrapping him up in a warm, all-encompassing embrace.

They stay like that for a good while, until Kalonia reappears, armed with a needle. “Sorry,” she says, as Luke unfolds himself from Wedge. All she needs is access to his arm, and Wedge is familiar enough with the process to offer it, even if his concentration is still a little shaky. The morpha takes a few minutes to enter Wedge’s system, and Kalonia uses the time to fix an IV up. Then she steps back, and leaves Wedge to Luke’s mercies.

Between everything, Wedge has found his head resting on Luke's shoulder, his entire body twisted into the other man’s. One of Luke’s arms is circled around his back, supporting him, fingers resting against Wedge’s forearm just below the implanted IV drip. He nuzzles into Luke’s neck, relishing how languid and loose he feels as the drugs take hold. “Luke?” he says. He had a question, he’s sure of it, but he can’t remember what it is.

“Shush,” Luke says. He brings his spare hand up, brushing his thumb against Wedge’s cheekbone, fingers curling in Wedge’s hair. “You just rest easy.” He moves his head up, and away, and for a moment Wedge wants to cry for him to come back, but then there are lips placed against his forehead, in a lingering kiss. “I’ll be here when you wake, love, don’t you worry.” And then Luke presses another kiss to his forehead, and Wedge closes his eyes in contentment, and lets the sedatives wash over him and lull him to sleep.

.

Luke sits with Wedge for a long time, until the man is settled and calm and Luke’s certain he’s not going to wake any time soon. Then he extracts himself from behind Wedge, laying the other man down on pillows and rearranging him so he looks comfortable. He bends down and retrieves Kettch from the floor, and places the toy in Wedge’s arms.

His fingers linger on Wedge’s wrist, not wanting to leave, but there’s something he has to do. With a heavy sigh, he turns his back on Wedge and goes to find Kalonia.

He finds her in her office, hunched over a desk, filing data work. She looks as rough as Luke feels, utterly disconcerted by the whole experience. He knocks at the door again; she hasn’t noticed him come in. “Kalonia?” he asks, not wanting to startle her.

She looks up, stiffening, then relaxing when she sees who it is. “Luke,” she says, gesturing at the empty chair that sits beside her desk, inviting him to sit in it. “Thank you for your help there. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

Luke takes the chair. He feels that this is likely to become a sit-down conversation. “I just wish I could have done more. I’m worried I did more harm than good when I lost my concentration and couldn’t keep it up.” He shudders as he remembers the way Wedge had screamed and thrashed against him, the desperate panic that had radiated off him.

Kalonia shakes her head. “You stayed with him throughout. That’s the important thing. He’s better with you here. And I think I started it – my hand slipped on the last pin, I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.”

“I felt the pain,” Luke admits. “It startled me – which it shouldn’t have done, I’m better than that. And then I lost it, and…” He folds his hands up. “I hate seeing him like this. That’s it, for a while, at least, right?”

“Thankfully, I got all the pins out,” Kalonia says. “And we managed to dress the wounds properly – that’s mostly down to you, managing to calm him back down, I couldn’t have done that. We’ll need to keep checking on those, but that should be simple. I’d hoped we could put him on the shuttle to Chandrila fairly quickly, but I might delay it. I doubt he’s going to be fit for travel after that, and his pain regiment will possibly need adjustments.”

“About that.” Luke leans forward. He’s been thinking about this for a while, ever since Kalonia told him that she had plans to move Wedge, and his determination to set the plan in motion had only grown after hearing Wedge’s objections to the idea. “I want to take him to Naboo.”

Kalonia furrows her eyebrows. “He’s in no state for a joyride, Luke, even to a planet as civilised as Naboo.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Luke takes a deep breath. “I want to take him to Naboo, to recover, rather than him being alone on Chandrila. I’ve spoken to the Queen of Naboo about it and she’d be happy to host us, and give Wedge access to the best medical facilities on Naboo.”

Kalonia looks gobsmacked. “You’ve spoken to the Queen of Naboo?” Her voice is incredulous, barely believing a word Luke is saying.

Luke has, briefly. It had been Leia’s idea. When he’d first gone to her, describing how much he hated the idea of leaving Wedge alone on Chandrila to recover, and that he wanted to stay with him, she’d floated the idea of Naboo as a safe refuge. Their mother’s planet. And the Queen owed Leia a favour, besides. Sosha Soruna had made it quite clear that she’d be delighted to have two heroes of the Rebellion recover on her planet. “I can have her contact you, if you’re worried about the arrangements that she’s making for Wedge’s care.”

Kalonia shakes her heads. “No, I don’t—” She stops, trying to get her words in order. “… You want to take Wedge to Naboo, and stay with him throughout his recovery period?”

“Yes,” Luke says. “You said you’d sign him out to a member of next-of-kin. That that was a viable treatment offer you’d consider if he had anyone in a position to do it. I might not be his…” Luke hesitates. “He’s mine? I mean, according to my Alliance file anyway. I never updated it.” He’d still been on Yavin when some efficient bureaucrat had come round to him, saying that he couldn’t just list his Aunt’s relatives on Tatooine in the field; he needed to nominate someone the Alliance stood a reasonable chance of contacting in an emergency. He’d thought about Leia, but had wondered about how it would have looked, and everything had still been up in the air about whether Han was going to stay, and Wedge had been there and offered and Luke’s never bothered to change it. “I want to do this for him,” he says, because Kalonia’s still staring at him wide-eyed and unbelieving.

“You—” Kalonia stutters again, but pauses to collect her thoughts. “Don’t you have Jedi stuff to do? Other responsibilities?”

Luke’s thought about this too. “I’ve got a pile of reading that’s been stacking up for the last year because I’ve avoided doing it. Old manuscripts on the Jedi Order, pieces of history, stuff like that. It needs doing though. I don’t see why I couldn’t do it from Wedge’s bedside.” It’s a pretty decent excuse, Luke thinks. Leia had smiled when she’d heard it, suitably impressed at its viability. Being on Naboo also places him convenient local for possible diplomatic engagements, though Luke’s going to try and shake off as many of those as he can.

“Okay,” Kalonia says. “His recovery – it’s not going to pretty, or easy. He’s going to need a lot of help throughout it.”

“And I’m prepared to give it to him,” Luke says. “I don’t want to do most of this reading, I’ll be honest. I’d rather be there for him.”

Kalonia looks contemplative, for a minute, and Luke wonders whether he’s said enough to convince her. “I am going to have to speak to the medical team the Queen is preparing,” she says. “But I don’t expect any problems. You should be able to take him to Naboo.”

Luke lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you.”

“It’ll be a weight of my mind,” Kalonia admits. “Knowing that you’ll be there for him. I hated the idea of sending him to Chandrila on his own. But there’s a lot of stuff I’m going to have to go over with you, about his care and recovery.”

“That’s no problem,” Luke replies, allowing the beginnings of a smile to tug at his lips.

“Good,” Kalonia says. “And… can I ask you a question?”

Her tone is serious. “Yes,” Luke replies.

“You and Wedge—” She hesitates again. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship?”

Part of Luke has to commend her for waiting this long to ask that question. She has to have been wondering it since he arrived, parked himself in the chair by Wedge’s bedside, and barely left since. And he’s hardly been shy about showering Wedge with the affection he wants so desperately to give him.

But the other part of Luke sinks, because he has no idea how to find the words to quantify their relationship – which is, technically, that they don’t have one, are no more than good friends and old squadron mates. (the fact that they spend a year or two circling each other and spending nights in each other’s beds seems a long-distant recollection, barely relevant today.)

“I—” Luke finds himself as tongue-tied as Kalonia had been earlier. He decides to go with the truth. “I love him,” he says, saying it aloud for the first time in a very long while. “And I’d like to think that maybe he feels the same. Not that that means we’re going to get our happily-ever-after – I’m a Jedi, he’s a starfighter pilot, I’m not sure the Galaxy works like that – but I want it to mean something.”

Kalonia doesn’t say anything. Just reaches across the desk to clasp his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You know,” she says, after they’ve sat in silence for a long while. “They say, sometimes, that love really is enough.”

Luke is possibly the person in the galaxy who knows best just how strong love can be, and he’s still not sure that means he can actually make a relationship with Wedge work.

“I’ll get working on setting up the new transfer,” Kalonia says, turning back to her datapad. “Leave it with me. You’ll be set up on Naboo before you know it.” She starts typing, then stops. “Have you told Wedge about any of this?”

“No,” Luke says, rubbing the back of his neck, bashful. “I didn't want to get his hopes up, in case I couldn’t make it work, or you wouldn’t let him go.”

“Yes, that would have probably been a shock,” Kalonia agrees. “But so will dropping this on him. So tell him, when he wakes up.”

“I will,” Luke says – but he can’t help but feel that there’s now a second undercurrent to this conversation, where Kalonia is encouraging him to tell Wedge how he feels. He should probably do that too, but Luke doesn’t want to do it in a medbay, where Wedge is in pain and unhappy.

“Shoo, then,” Kalonia says, waving her hands at him. “You’ve got a bedside to get back to.”

Luke slips out of her office, and back to the chair by Wedge’s bed. He looks the same as he did when Luke left – he's maybe shifted a little, taking hold of Kettch and hugging the toy tight. He looks sweet, and Luke can’t help but smile fondly. When Wedge is awake, and not loopy with pain or painkillers, he’ll swear that he hates that bear and that it’s the worst present anyone’s ever given him.

When he’s struggling, his complaints stop and Kettch is somehow never far from his side.

Luke fusses with the blanket folded over Wedge, running his fingers over the edge of it. “We’re going to go to Naboo, love,” he says, even though he knows Wedge can’t hear him. “And you’re going to get better and I’m going to be there for every moment of it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Luke follows through on his plan to take Wedge to Naboo; Wedge gets a new nurse; and there might be a small visit from some minor royalty.

“You know, Wedge, I have run a squadron before.” Tycho teases as Wedge attempts to go through the data work one more time. “In fact, I have been doing so for the last several weeks. I’ve got this. You just relax.”

“I know,” Wedge says from his bed. He’s looking much better than he did, but Tycho knows it’s still early days. And he’s been warned by Kalonia to not let Wedge push himself too hard. “Still, can we go over everything again?”

Tycho sighs.

“Yeah, of course we can.”

It must be difficult to be Wedge right now; to have so little control over what’s happened to him. Not just the accident, but Luke suddenly declaring that he’s going to whisk Wedge away to Naboo. Which is undoubtedly a good thing – no one really wanted to send Wedge to Chandrila on his own – but it still came as a shock.

Tycho wants to be reassuring. To say that Wedge will be back on his feet and back with them before he knows it, but Kalonia has told them in no uncertain terms that they are not to broach the topic of how long Wedge’s recovery might take, or make any allusion to the prospect of him flying again. Things are still so uncertain. Kalonia doesn’t want to give him false hope.

“So, in conclusion,” Tycho says, after Wedge has finished running through his list again. “Don’t let Janson anywhere near a modicum of responsibility; keep Hobbie from getting too morose; attempt to keep Plourr out of fights that would cause a diplomatic incident, that being all of them; ensure that Snap is well cared for and calls his mother once a week; and keep everyone alive. Is that about the sum of it?”

Wedge furrows his brow, biting his lip, before giving in and saying: “Yes, that sounds about right.”

He sounds a little defeated, so Tycho reaches over and pats the back of his hand. “I get it. You care. It’s what makes you such a good commander. But you’re allowed to have a break. And you definitely need one. Let Luke take care of you for a bit.” He punctuates the statement with a grin, hoping to cheer Wedge up.

Wedge does not look cheered. He looks a little glum, and uncertain, and he’s worrying at his bottom lip. “Tych?” His voice is small. “This… it’s really happening, right? Luke’s really taking me to Naboo?”

Tycho thought that that was well established at this point; Wedge and Luke are leaving tomorrow, on a medical transport Kalonia arranged, and it’s been cleared by everyone. Then he remembers something Wedge had said to him weeks ago, upon waking. That he’d dreamed of Luke coming to him, and the shock that had passed across his face when Tycho had told him that Luke was, in fact, there.

He’d dismissed it as confusion on Wedge’s part, left over from the sedatives and painkillers. However, the man before him is awake and coherent, but is still staring up at Tycho in complete disbelief.

“Yes, Wedge, he’s really taking you to Naboo.” Tycho tries to sound as sincere as possible and keep any note of patronisation out of his voice.

“But…” Wedge doesn’t sound any more confident. “He has things that need to be done. He’s a Jedi; the galaxy needs him. He can’t just…”

Wedge trails off. Tycho can’t really argue with him. There isn’t a way round the fact that Luke _is_ abandoning his duties as the last Jedi left in the Galaxy in favour of nursing Wedge back to health.

“I believe he’s taking a break to do some research,” Tycho chooses to repeat the excuse that Luke is insisting on using, despite the fact that is is paper thin. “Wedge, he’s your friend. No one’s going to begrudge him taking some time to help you out.”

No one who’s watched Luke Skywalker sit at Wedge Antilles’ bedside and hold his hand and brush his hair and kiss his forehead is ever going to believe that they’re just friends, but that’s for them to sort out between themselves. Tycho refuses to get involved.

Wedge doesn't say anything in response. He just sits still for a while, thinking things through. “I—” he breaks off, clearly not having thought his words all the way through. Tycho just waits until he has. “Kalonia says it’ll be months. He can’t stay all that time.”

“That’s a conversation for you to have with him. Probably later on. You know it’s unclear exactly how your recovery’s going to shake out.” Woe betide the person who tries to drag Luke from Wedge’s side before he’s ready, Tycho thinks. They won’t get very far.

Wedge’s shoulders tighten, possibly at the idea of having to talk about his feelings with Luke. “Tycho, I can’t feel most of my leg. I can’t move my toes. Kalonia bends the knee of the leg I didn’t break and it’s painful beyond words. The idea of me even sitting up straight is at least a month off. I’ve got bruises that go on for what seems like forever. I’m not…”

Wedge has never been a vain man, though he has his moments – he’s a little precious about his hair, wearing it at the limit of regulation length – but this goes beyond that. “Wedge, these are concerns you should take up with Kalonia, or your new medical team.”

Wedge nods, solemnly. “I know,” he says, after a moment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “Luke. What’s he going to think of me?”

“Wedge, you’re not a bother. And he’s seen you through plenty of the bad already. He’s no stranger to being injured and needing recovery time. Just relax. What will happen will happen.”

This conversation is nearing dangerously close to romantic advice, which Tycho swore he wouldn’t dispense. But Wedge needs something in the way of reassurance. “Listen to me,” he says, pointing a finger at Wedge and making sure Wedge is focusing on him. “Stop. Worrying. Get better. Luke’s going to stick by you no matter what, because that’s what he does. And you’ll—” Tycho catches himself, almost saying that Wedge will be back flying with them before he knows it, “be better quicker with his help.”

Wedge looks a little befuddled, like he’s worked out that he’s missing an angle on this conversation. Tycho just leans over and ruffles his hair.

“Okay,” Wedge says. “Yeah, definitely ready to go if you’re going to keep doing that.”

Tycho grins. “You’ve packed Kettch, right? Because I am not listening to Janson’s wailings for months if he finds out you’ve finally managed to ditch Kettch.”

.

No matter how sophisticated the medical transport was, it was always going to be a right pain shifting Wedge.

Luke attempts to not feel too guilty about it, because it would be true wherever they ended up taking Wedge. His journey to Chandrila would likely have been just as miserable. But this shuttle is small, and the inertial compressor isn’t calibrated quite as well as it could be, and Luke can feel every jolt of the ship as it swims through space and towards Naboo.

For Wedge, it’s probably worse.

At least he isn’t awake. Kalonia had overruled Wedge’s wishes on that particular case. It’s for his own comfort, she’d argued, as she sedated him. Luke isn’t sure if it’s actually worked, but at least Wedge isn’t tossing and turning in the med-capsule from pain.

“We’re descending into Naboo now, sir,” one of the ship staff says, popping their head around the door. Luke just nods in response.

He leans over and takes Wedge’s hand, stroking the back of it, fingers tracing circles in Wedge’s palm. “Hey,” he says, lightly. He’s been counting the hours, and they’re about at the time where Wedge is supposed to come round.

His thumb goes to Wedge’s wrist, feeling his pulse, the steady reassuring beat. He focuses on that, timing his breath with it, letting it take over. He spends a moment in quiet meditation, and then—

“Luke?” Wedge asks, groggy. He’s blinking his eyes, head turned slightly towards Luke. “Are we there?”

“Almost,” Luke says, clutching Wedge’s hand tight. “You doing alright?”

Wedge takes a moment to answer. “Yeah,” he says. “Just about. Everything’s still a bit foggy, but that’s probably for the best.”

Luke smiles back at him. “Probably.” He leans a little closer, adjusting the pillows Wedge is leaning on, resisting the urge to pat down Wedge’s hair and run his hand along Wedge’s jaw. “Just rest. I’ve got no idea what Queen Soruna might have put on for our arrival.”

“If it’s a royal reception…” Wedge starts. He’s still having to fight the sedation to stay fully awake, even if it is wearing off. Luke is a patient man, though, and he sits and holds Wedge’s hand in his and waits until Wedge can finish his sentence. “… I’m turning around and leaving. You got me?”

“I got you,” Luke responds. He sincerely hopes there isn’t, though he expects there might be at some point during their stay. With any luck, Queen Soruna will hold off until Wedge is on the mend. Having Wedge by his side might just make the entire thing bearable. “I’ll be right beside you, don’t you worry.”

“Good,” Wedge replies.

He doesn’t say anything more. His eyes fall closed, and he drifts back off. Meanwhile, Luke can feel the ship descending into low atmosphere. It finally comes to a juddering landing – Luke could name ten dozen pilots who wouldn’t have made such a hash of it – and they’re there. On Naboo.

Luke can’t move Wedge on his own, so he has to wait for the medical staff on the shuttle to detach the bed Wedge is sleeping in, and move it off the shuttle. Luke follows, a step behind.

He wasn’t quite sure where Soruna was going to house them. He imagined that it might be a wing of the palace, or a private house in Theed. But there’s a shimmering blue lake before Luke, and a grand house rising up before it. They’re in the Lake Country, if Luke has his bearings correctly. Far away from the cities, the private retreat of many a Naboo official. This house is incredible; Luke wonders who owns it.

(There’s whispers of memory in the Force. Something important happened here, something personal, that left a mark goodness knows how many years on. Luke is too focused on Wedge to pay it much mind, but there is a story here that Luke is determined to learn at some point.)

A woman in her early-fifties, blonde hair, average height, stands to greet them at the door. “Welcome,” she says, and her voice is full of the quiet dignity Luke has noted amongst so many of the Galaxy’s female statesman, those who stood and fought in the face of everything. She reminds him a little of one of Mon Mothma’s aides, who must be about the same age. “Queen Soruna sends her apologies that she cannot be here to greet you in person, but she hopes you enjoy the home that she has chosen for you. My name is Eirtaé, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Luke.”

“You as well,” Luke responds.

“We can take it from here,” Eirtaé tells the shuttle’s medical staff, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. Just as quickly, a new set of medics comes out from the house, pushing the hoverbed Wedge is lying on into the house. “There are a number of doctors waiting inside to assess your friend’s condition. Naboo’s finest. The Queen is determined that he will make a full recovery.”

Luke sinks a little. He’d hoped that they might manage to avoid this, that he could just get Wedge settled and sleeping. He was tired himself, but he wasn’t going to let Wedge face this alone. “Is that really necessary?” he asks, keeping close behind Wedge.

“I believe so,” Eirtaé responds. “Is he awake? The documentation that Doctor Kalonia sent over indicated that he should have come round by the time you landed.”

“He’s no longer sedated,” Luke says. “But he is sleeping, because he needs his rest. Also, Eirtaé – he has a name. Wedge Antilles. Please can you use it?”

She looks a little abashed, but not affronted. In fact, Luke thinks she might be a little pleased that he’s spoken back. “Yes. Of course.”

“Thank you,” Luke says. They turn down a number of corridors, until they reach a wide, open room. There’s a gathering of medical staff in the far corner, a far greater number than Luke had hoped for. There’s no way that this isn’t going to cause Wedge distress. “Let me rouse Wedge, please. Then they can look at him.”

Eirtaé acquiesces, going over to speak to the doctors whilst Luke goes to Wedge. He places a hand on Wedge’s shoulder, gripping lightly. “Wedge. Love. We’re here.” Luke brushes his fingertips over Wedge’s collarbone, willing Wedge a soft reawakening. He stirs. “Hey. Look, I’m really sorry about this, but there’s a bunch of doctors here to examine you.”

Wedge’s face falls, his mouth working into a frown. “I don’t…”

“I know,” Luke says, pushing a wave of support at Wedge and hoping that he feels it. “I’ll be right here.”

The doctors – there are three of them, Luke thinks, and four nurses, plus the medical staff who’d brought Wedge in. Far too many. They swarm around, one of them pushing Luke out of the way to get closer to Wedge. “We need to examine the patient, please,” they say, when Luke attempts to resume his place by Wedge’s side.

Luke catches Wedge’s eyes, sending an apology as he steps back and lets the doctors do their work.

None of them are Kalonia. Luke wishes she’d come with them; she knew exactly how to deal with Wedge, exactly the nature of his injuries. And when to leave him be. Luke is no expert, but he’s sure that the most important thing for Wedge right now is that he rests.

“Master Luke,” Eirtaé says, stepping up besides him. “There are a couple of things I must discuss with you.”

She talks about eating arrangements, something about the Queen visiting, the members of staff who will make up the household while he and Wedge are here. Luke tunes most of it out, focusing on Wedge. The doctors are prodding and poking all over him, at the bruises that still remain from the injury, at the still healing wounds on his hips from where Kalonia removed the external fixators. And Luke remembers exactly how painful that was.

Wedge’s irritation is rising with every moment, every time they talk over him like he’s not there. One pulls out a datapad and projects what Luke thinks are the scans of Wedge’s broken leg, which prompts new discussion over that, and a wave of renewed interest. There’s talk of redo-ing the cast – surely unnecessary – and one of them even floats the possibility of further surgery, which, understandably, distresses Wedge even further.

Luke is ready to forgive it all though if it helps them create a comprehensive plan for Wedge’s recovery.

Then he hears the biting, desperate gasp. One of the doctors has got hold of Wedge’s broken leg and is lifting it upwards, and the agony is written over Wedge’s face. “No, no, stop,” he’s muttering. One of the nurses looks concerned, but the Doctor doesn’t. Another steps in, grasping hold, and Wedge emits a strangled desperate moan.

Luke steps up and inbetween them all. “That’s enough, don’t you think?” His words have a harsh edge to them even as he attempts to remain civil. He wants the best for Wedge, and these apparently are the best. Not that they’ve got off to a good start.

“But, sir—”

Luke stares them all down. “He’s had a difficult journey, and the most important thing for his is rest. Go. All of you,” he adds, when only half of them back away.

Most of them turn and leave, defeated. Except one. The male nurse who’d looked concerned earlier. “You too,” Luke says, even though he’s willing to be a little more conciliatory towards this one than the others, on account of him being the only one who seemed to understand that Wedge is a human being and not some specimen to be examined.

“Yes, I know, sir,” the nurse replies. “Just… I believe there are a number of things which need doing before Commander Antilles is ready for rest. His catheter must need changing, and it will be much easier to move him to the bed with two of us.”

The nurse speaks a lot of sense. Luke can see that. He still doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t imagine Wedge will either. “Fine. But be quick. And careful.”

“I will, sir.” The nurse moves for a number of things, while Luke moves to stroke Wedge’s cheek.

Wedge flinches away from the touch.

If he’s flinching away from Luke, the rest of this isn’t going to go well. “It’s just me,” Luke says, hoping to soothe Wedge’s freyed nerves. He smooths his hands over Wedge’s shoulders, rubbing up and down. Wedge is tense underneath him. “Relax.”

The nurse is back, and Luke wonders if he can provide enough of a distraction that Wedge won’t notice what’s going on. He’s not mucking about in Wedge’s head again; he learnt his lesson about that one. Luke places a firm hand on Wedge’s chest, partially for reassurance, partially to keep him still.

“Hey,” the nurse says. His hands are shaking, Luke notices. Is he new to this? Or just nervous because of who it is? “Sorry about all this,” he says, taking care to address Wedge directly. “Dr Heyal is a pain. Always has been. Best of intentions, utterly useless at carrying them out.” He attempts a laugh, and Luke has to commend him for trying.

It’s not really working. Wedge isn’t any calmer, ever under Luke’s touch. “What’s your name?” Luke asks, realising he doesn’t even know that.

“Jahon,” the nurse says, before biting his lip in concentration.

Wedge is biting his in pain.

“Let me help,” Luke offers. He should have asked Kalonia to show him more of the day-to-day nursing that Wedge would require. He hadn’t needed it while they were ship-bound, one of Kalonia’s nurses had done it, but here, in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people: Luke should be able to step up and do more of it.

“That’s not necessary, sir,” Jahon replies.

Luke looks at the suffering on Wedge’s face and thinks that it probably is.

“I’m almost done,” Jahon declares. “If you could give me a hand lifting him into the bed, that would be appreciated. Madam Eirtaé, you too, please.”

Luke wasn’t even aware that Eirtaé was still in the room, but she steps forward, willing to follow Jahon’s instruction. Jahon navigates the hoverbed to lie beside the large bed at the centre of the room, where the covers have already been drawn back and a number of pillows are awaiting. “Now, Wedge, this will hurt and there’s nothing that can be done about it,” Jahon says.

Wedge nods, and tenses himself against the pain. Luke wants to halt that, but the best thing is simply to get Wedge into the bed as quickly as they can. Under Jahon’s instructions, Luke slips his arms under Wedge’s back and head, whilst Jahon supports Wedge’s legs, and Eirtaé whisks the hoverbed out from under them. From there, it's a simple enough step to place Wedge down in the bed, and arrange the pillows around him so his hips and leg are correctly supported.

Once that is done, Eirtaé quickly whisks Jahon from the room, leaving Luke and Wedge alone.

“I don’t like them,” Wedge mutters. He’s fidgeting a little, attempting to find his place, and that’s got to hurt. Luke doesn’t know what to do, what he can do, other than pull a chair up to the side of the bed and offer his support.

“They’re only trying to help,” Luke says. “Though I can’t say I’m tremendously fond, either.”

“You’re not the one they’re poking and prodding at.”

“No, but you are, and I don’t like seeing you hurt,” Luke replies.

Wedge looks a little startled at how plainly Luke laid that out.

“Is there anything I can do?” Luke asks. He wants to make this better. “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?”

“No,” Wedge says, a little quickly. “Just… stay, please? I don’t want you to go.”

Luke can do that. He can definitely do that. He takes Wedge’s hand, and Wedge’s fingers curl back around his. Luke lifts his hand up, tugging Wedge’s with it, and presses a kiss to the back of Wedge’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, running his thumb over the joints on Wedge’s fingers. He looks up at Wedge, hoping to make it clear that he has no intentions of leaving. Not tonight. Possibly ever.

“Thanks,” Wedge says, closing his eyes and leaning back into the pillows. He doesn’t withdraw his hand, just keeps it safely wrapped in Luke’s, fingers occasionally tightening around Luke’s as he searches for reassurance that Luke is still there.

It’s a world away from earlier, where Wedge was flinching away from Luke’s touch, and Luke hopes it stays this way. He sits in the chair – much comfier than the one he’d had in the medbay, not that it matters – and watches as Wedge slowly falls asleep, as the tension falls away from his face.

And then, finally, he falls asleep too, Wedge’s hand in his, reassured by the warmth and beating pulse and the hope that this is the first real step on the way to recovery.

.

Wedge wakes up to the stream of sunlight through the windows.

Someone must have forgotten to close the curtains, is his first thought, after a moment of disorientation. They don’t see sunrise on ships, after all. And that is what this clearly is. The sun, pale and pink tinged and golden, slowly making its way over the horizon.

The second is that there’s a strange weight, weighing down one of his hands. When Wedge looks down, he finds Luke right there, ostensibly sleeping in the chair beside Wedge’s bed, but in practice, he’s pillowed his head on the bed.

He’s still holding Wedge’s hand.

That’s a comfort, because Wedge is slowly realising that he’s in a lot of pain.

His judgement on pain has shifted rather dramatically over the past weeks, but this is middling to severe, he’s certain of it. The last of the sedation must have flushed its way out of his system, and he’s not – or at least he thinks he hasn’t – had any pain medication since.

Which would explain the levels of pain he’s currently experiencing. It’s not helped by the fact that he was jostled around most of yesterday, or that last night a set of doctors had decided he needed to be poked and prodded at. Wedge shudders a little at the memory. He really hopes that isn’t how his recovery is going to go from here on, but he guesses there will be some of it. Kalonia had briefly described how his physical therapy would be, and he remembers enough from the first two goes at it to know that it’s going to be really miserable.

This time, he has Luke to help him through it. Or so Luke has promised, and although Wedge isn’t entirely sure he has faith that Luke really will be here through it all, he seems to intend to try.

Which is more than Wedge ever expected.

He looks over at Luke who sleeps on, completely oblivious to the sunlight streaming in through the windows. It catches in Luke’s hair, throwing up golden highlights, and Wedge wants to thread his fingers through those golden strands.

(He can’t, physically; one of his hands is trapped underneath Luke, and the idea of moving the other one over to run it through Luke’s hair is beyond his pain tolerance.)

Luke’s done a lot of sleeping by Wedge’s bedside, holding Wedge’s hand. That bit isn’t new, not at this point. But there… the medbay, the hard lines of steel and the bright white-greyness of the entire thing, they made it difficult to forget that they were military, that Luke was only there because Wedge was injured.

Here… here, the colours are warm, and the bed large, and soft. It feels like a home. Might well have been someone’s at one point. And Wedge dares to dream.

Dream that he might wake up to Luke every morning. To the sight of sunlight striking gold on sandy hair. To Luke, not sitting in a chair beside the bed, but in the bed, besides Wedge. Maybe with his arms wrapped around Wedge, encasing him in warmth or security, or in Wedge’s arms. Wedge imagines holding Luke, of waking to that gorgeous man pressed against him, Wedge’s face in that hair…

He wants, and wants, so much that it aches, almost as much as the physical pain thrumming through his body. But even with how warm Luke has been, the amount he’s held Wedge and kissed him and called him love… surely they can’t have this. It’s never going to work. Luke is a Jedi, Wedge is a Starfighter pilot.

Or was. He’s not at the moment. And Luke seems uninterested in being a Jedi at the moment. So maybe Wedge should stop worrying, and just see how this goes.

He settles his gaze on Luke. Feels the warmth and weight of Luke around his hand. For now, that’s enough.

.

Wedge isn’t quite sure how long he lies there, sitting quietly with Luke, watching the sun slowly rise. It’s a while, anyway, and Luke sleeps on for all of it.

Eventually, there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” Wedge calls softly. Luke looks like he’s beginning to stir. The door opens and Eirtaé sweeps in, carrying a tray of breakfast things. She sets them on a small table off to the side of the bed before approaching Wedge.

“Did you sleep well, Mister Antilles?” she asks.

Her voice isn’t loud, but it isn’t quiet either, and Wedge can feel Luke’s grip loosening as he shakes himself from sleep. “Yes, thank you,” Wedge replies. “And it’s just Wedge. That’s fine.” She nods, and Wedge turns his attention to Luke. “Luke, wake up, breakfast’s here.”

“Huh?” Luke’s voice is riddled through with sleep, as he lifts his head. His sandy hair is falling every which way, a total mess of bedhead. He manages to push it out of his eyes, but it doesn’t really make it any neater.

“Breakfast,” Eirtaé says, helpfully, bringing some of the things over. She sets two glass of water and two mugs of tea on Wedge’s bedside table, before bringing them two plates full of food. “And painkillers. To be taken after you’ve eaten, Wedge, I’m told.” Which means another half an hour before they’ll kick in, so Wedge will just have to breathe through the pain. “I’ll leave you to it. A nurse will be by shortly for you Wedge – I presume that I should send Jahon?”

Wedge doesn’t remember a lot from yesterday, but he does remember the name of the only nurse who’d shown him any degree of kindness. “Yes please.” He has no desire to make anyone else’s acquaintance at the moment.

“Master Skywalker, I would advise you use that time to refresh yourself and get dressed. Queen Soruna will be here in just over an hour and a half, and she wishes to see you both.”

Wedge had been half way into a piece of toast but he drops it. “The Queen—!? She’s coming here?” He attempts to lean over and retrieve the dropped toast, but is stopped by the sharp pain.

“Yes,” Eirtaé says, her manner slightly brisk. “She’ll be leaving Theed shortly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go prepare for her arrival.”

She leaves, closing the door behind her, leaving Luke and Wedge to eat. Luke quickly and quietly retrieves the toast Wedge dropped, putting it aside and giving him a fresh piece. “Thanks,” Wedge says, grateful that Luke doesn't say anything more about it. “The Queen? Really?”

Wedge looks across at Luke, with raised eyebrows, and Luke just shrugs. “We are here as her guests,” he says. “And besides, she’s actually alright when she’s not being royal. And she’s a pilot – you’ll have something to talk about.”

“Me?” Wedge gestures at himself. “In conversation? With the Queen of Naboo? Luke what have you signed me up for?”

“You’ll be fine,” Luke replies. “Now, come on. Eat up. Grubs a lot better than it was ship-side.”

That, Wedge can agree with. So he eats his toast, then the pieces of fruit that Luke feeds him, and finally downs the painkillers with a mouthful of the tea. At this point, Jahon and a young woman neither Luke or Wedge recognise at his side.

“I guess we best do what Eirtaé suggested,” Luke says. “Are you going to be alright by yourself?”

“I’ll manage well enough,” Wedge says. “If things go bad, I think you’ll know about it anyway, if past experience is anything to go by.”

Luke flushes with the memory of how he’d dashed out a meeting without even bothering to excuse himself at the feeling of Wedge’s pain. “I’ll come running,” he says, putting a smile on his face. “I always will.”

He leans over, placing his hand in the hollow of Wedge’s shoulder, and presses a light kiss to his hairline. “I’ll be back soon.”

Luke stands up, scuffing the chair he’s spent the night in across the floor, and Jahon and the girl use it as an excuse to spring into action. Jahon goes straight for the other side of the bed, laying out his medical kit, while the girl retrieves the trays at lightning speed and brushes Luke’s elbow and says: “Master Skywalker, if you’ll please follow me to your rooms, I don’t believe Madame Eirtaé got a chance to show you them yesterday.”

For now, Luke acquiesces and follows her, but at some point he will have to have words with Eirtaé about the number of staff gathered in this house. He wasn’t paying much attention to what she said last night, but reaching out with the force reveals a half-dozen other people in this house, flitting about, and that’s unnecessary.

The rooms the girl shows him to are right next to Wedge’s, thank goodness, and are slightly simpler and not quite as extravagant – Luke hasn’t got the wide lake-shore view that Wedge has, or the balcony access. But they’re far nicer than anything he’s ever had access to in his life. Which is what they get, he guesses, for being housed at the pleasure of the Queen of Naboo.

She points out the case of his things, and the wardrobe – pre-stocked with clothes in his size, goodness, they really have gone out their way to make him feel welcome – a bathroom, filled with more trinkets. He dismisses the girl as quickly as seems polite, and flops onto the bed.

It’s far too comfortable.

He breathes deep for a moment, focuses himself in the force, familiarising himself with the surroundings properly. He probably doesn’t have time for a proper meditation session; he’ll have to do it later. For now, five minutes is enough, though he spends most of that sensing Wedge and the flashes of pain that echo from him.

(Pain that is completely within Wedge’s usual thresholds now, so as much as it pains Luke, he lets it go.)

So Luke moves on from that, and focuses on freshening himself up. Which involves a thorough exploration of the bathroom, which is almost as large as the bedroom – the Naboo have no qualms about the wastage of water, living on a planet so rich in it. Luke lets the hot water run over his skin and thinks about how far this planet is from Tatooine, and what might have happened had he been given to his mother’s family instead of his father's.

The clothes in the wardrobe are a little ostentatious for Luke’s taste, befitting someone of the rank of prince, he’s sure. But he is meeting a Queen. Nonetheless, he turns his back on the wardrobe, and retrieves the formal Jedi clothes he brought with him from the trunk. There’s nothing fancy about them, and they look similar enough to almost everything else he wears; just, these are made from slightly nicer fabrics, and are cut to fit him a little better. Not much, but enough to make him shine to any scrupulous negotiators. They’ll hold up.

A quick check in the Force reveals that Wedge is still busy with Jahon, and that the Queen has not yet arrived, so Luke sets off in search of Eirtaé.

He finds her in a sitting room, at a desk, sorting through things. She looks… weary, almost, Luke wants to say but it’s not quite right. There’s something a little off about her in general, that Luke has yet to put his finger on; she’s more than a household manager. But Luke doesn’t pry into people’s secrets unnecessarily, so he’ll let her keep it until it becomes pertinent.

“Eirtaé,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Umm. Is it really necessary to have so many staff in this house?”

She looks up from her desk, a pair of glasses now on her face, and sighs. “I did wonder if you heard a word of what I was saying yesterday. The short answer is no, not entirely. However, they are all here to facilitate Wedge’s recovery and make things easier for you, and each member of staff is here from the Queen’s personal household, so they understand the need to be discreet. It may help you to know that the list has been curtailed from the Queen’s initial suggestion, as I suspected you might not be comfortable with it. But, for now, I suggest that you see how it goes. We can revise the arrangement later if it is a problem.”

She speaks like a politician. Luke wonders if she was at some point, and how she came to be here, in charge of a household set up for a Jedi Knight and an injured Starfighter Pilot, at the Queen’s behest.

“Okay,” Luke says. He might not like it, but Eirtaé speaks a lot of sense. So he lets the issue go, for now. “Do you have an expected arrival time for Queen Soruna?”

Eirtaé checks her chrono. “Ten minutes from now. I received a message saying she was running early. Do you want to come and meet her with me, or shall I bring her to you and Wedge?”

Luke appreciates that she’s giving him the option. And on reflection… “I’ll wait with Wedge. He’s already freaked out enough about this whole thing. I’ll stay with him.”

He doesn’t think that Eirtaé would have judged him on either option – she’s the sort who wouldn’t have given him options if she thought they were bad ideas – but her nod of approval is welcome all the same. “You best get back to him, then. And ensure that he’s prepared.”

“Thanks.” Luke leaves, quickly, retracing his steps back towards the room where Wedge lies. He gives the door a quick knock – if Jahon’s still in there, he doesn’t want to interrupt.

Wedge calls him in, and Luke goes. There’s no sign of Jahon, so he must have finished. And Wedge does look more put together then he had previously. The pillows on the bed are plumped. He’s wearing a different shirt, this one soft and black – it looks comfortable. His hair has been combed and his jaw shaved. He looks good, for a man who’s shattered his pelvis and broken his leg and is on bed rest for a month, and Luke tells him that.

He’s rewarded with a pretty blush that crosses Wedge’s cheeks. “Thanks, I guess,” Wedge replies, looking a little bashful. “You do too.” He gives Luke a not entirely subtle once-over, eyeing the Jedi blacks.

Luke is suddenly struck by a memory of Wedge stripping him out of them, on Endor. He’d had words to say about them then, almost all of them filthy and odes to how distracting Luke looked in them. He doesn’t remember as much as he’d like about that night – his memory goes blank around the time Wedge had pushed him against a tree and fallen to his knees – but there’s enough, of Wedge hot and hard against him…

Shit. These are not the thoughts to be having when Wedge is injured and on bed rest and they are five minutes away from meeting the Queen of Naboo.

He clears them from his mind, and settles a mantle of Jedi calm back around him. He finds a chair, and pulls it up beside Wedge’s bed, and waits for the Queen’s arrival.

They don’t have to wait long.

Queen Sosha Soruna pushes the doors to Wedge’s room open. Her face is painted in the traditional Naboo-style, but otherwise, Luke believes she’s dressed down. The finery she wears is still more than Luke is accustomed to. She’s flanked by two handmaidens, both in deep burgundy robes. And, a step behind her, is Eirtaé.

Suddenly, with Eirtaé standing next to the Queen’s handmaidens, Luke finally makes the connection. There are two reasons why a Naboo woman would be the way she is. First, if they truly were a former politician. Second – and this is the one Luke believes to be true – they were a handmaiden.

That’s one mystery solved.

“Hello, Queen Soruna.” Luke stands up, and offers his hands. She takes them, and he inclines his head to her. “Thank you so much for agreeing to host us. Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

“We are pleased to have you, Master Skywalker,” she replies. “I have not forgotten the great service your sister did me, and Naboo, nor the tireless work of your mother. Naboo owes your family a great debt. I am happy to repay some of it.” She turns her attention to Wedge. “You must be Commander Antilles. I hope that your recovery goes well, here on Naboo. I have made the foremost medical experts available, as you need them.”

Wedge looks completely befuddled. “Thank you, Queen Soruna,” he says. He plays with his hands, unsure of what the protocol is.

“Soruna is fine.” She gestures at the two women beside her. “This is Ariadné, and Mollena, my principle handmaidens. If you ever have a problem – I would hope you wouldn’t – they will be happy to help you out.” Both of the dark haired young women nod, completely in sync with one another. It’s a little odd, to be honest. “And I have appointed Madame Eirtaé as your head of household. She served Queen Amidala most faithfully, and I know she will serve you as well as she did Amidala.”

Wedge wants to say that they don’t need serving – that isn’t the sort of thing they need. He flicks his eyes to Luke, wondering how to broach the topic with the Queen. But Luke is regarding Eirtaé with a dazed look of admiration and wonder. Then Wedge remembers.

Amidala. Padmé Amidala. Luke’s mother. The mother he’s never known. And now they have a woman in front of them who knew her well, intimately, for several years.

Wedge can understand why Luke would be distracted.

“Eirtaé’s help is already much appreciated,” Luke says, his voice a little stiff.

Eirtaé, standing off to the side, is studiously avoiding eye contact. It’s reasonably well known these days that Luke Skywalker is the son of Padmé Amidala. There’s no chance that she _didn_ _’t_ know.

“I know, Luke, that you are not here just to aid in Commander Antilles’ recovery, and that you expected to be housed in Theed, with full access to the palace libraries. You will still have that, and I am happy to provide you with any of the resources that you require in aid of your search for information on the Jedi and your history. In light of Commander Antilles’ injuries, though, I decided that you might be more comfortable out here, at Varykino. This house has been held in trust by the crown for the Naberrie family ever since Senator Amidala’s passing.”

“—This was my mother’s house?”

The words fall from Luke’s lips in a gasp. If Wedge could move, he’d be at Luke’s side right now, providing the little reassurance he could muster. Because if Luke looked shocked by learning that Eirtaé was one of his mother’s handmaidens—

That’s nothing compared to this.

“Varykino has been in the Naberrie family for many years,” Eirtaé says. “When Padmé became Senator, her father gave this house over to her use. She brought Jedi Knight Skywalker here when they were hiding from an assassin on the eve of the Clone Wars.”

“My father was here as well?”

Luke takes a step towards the wide windows, reaching his hand out. His eyes are closed, and Wedge suspects that he’s reaching for something in the Force. A distant impression, a memory, anything… Luke has been chasing his parents ever since Wedge knew him, and it’s only ever brought him pain.

Wedge dearly hopes that he can find some happiness in Varykino. “Luke,” he says, after a long moment has passed.

Luke opens his eyes, and turns back to face them all. Wedge keeps his attention squarely on Luke, not paying any mind to Soruna or her handmaidens, or Eirtaé. He’s rewarded when Luke comes to sit on the end of the bed, careful not to disturb Wedge. His hands grip the edge of the sheets, and he breathes deep for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Soruna says. “I did not mean to cause you any distress. I believe this is the best place for you, but if you have objections, we can of course move you.”

“No,” Luke says, in an instant. “No, this is fine. I just wasn’t expecting it. Thank you Soruna.” He looks up at her, eyes sincere and earnest.

“I’m glad,” she replies. “Varykino’s library is well stocked; I would suggest you start your enquires there. And I’m sure that Madame Eirtaé will be happy to answer any questions you may have about your mother.”

Eirtaé nods from her position behind Soruna.

“Thank you,” Luke repeats.

An awkward silence settles over the gathering, until Eirtaé takes Soruna’s arm. “Would your majesty like a tour of the property?” It’s a thinly disguised excuse at a distraction, and everyone knows it, but Soruna takes it, leaving Luke and Wedge on their own.

“She’s… something,” Wedge says, staring at the door that Soruna had just left through.

“That’s the word for it,” Luke says. He’s still looking a little shell-shocked by all the revelations that have just been dumped on him.

“Are you okay?” Wedge asks. He wants to lean over, wrap an arm around Luke and offer comfort, but that’s impossible given his current predicament. He’s going to have to use his words. “I know that everything about your mother must have been a shock.”

“I—” Luke turns to look at Wedge. “I had almost nothing, and now I have so much I barely know where to begin.”

Wedge smiles gently at Luke. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“I guess so.” He brushes a hand against Wedge’s better leg. “Yeah. It is.”

.

Later that day, Luke tracks Eirtaé down in her office.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, without any preamble.

“Because I hadn’t had the chance,” she answers. “It hardly seemed like the sort of thing I should just spring on you. Ever since you’ve arrived, you’ve been far more concerned with Wedge’s wellbeing rather than anything else. How is he at the moment?”

“Sleeping.” Luke hasn’t long left him, having spent longer than he perhaps should sitting at his side, watching as Wedge’s features softened with sleep. “I still wish you hadn’t sprung it on me.”

“I didn’t expect Soruna to mention it.” Eirtaé shrugs. “As far as the Naboo are concerned, I’ve had far more important jobs that an eight-year stint as Queen Amidala’s handmaiden.”

“Oh.” Luke sinks into a chair, head in his hands. “But you knew?”

Eirtaé takes the chair opposite Luke, pulling it up. “Of course I knew. I’ve always known. There’s a reason I took this job.”

“Because of Padmé?”

“Because of Padmé.” Eirtaé nods. “When Soruna mentioned that you were coming… I wanted to ensure that you were comfortable. You and your… friend.” She settles on the word for Wedge, aware that it is in no way comprehensive for what Wedge is, but unwilling to say anything more.

“I appreciate it,” Luke says. “I really do. Really. It means a lot to me – to him. And… anything you can tell me about my mother.”

Eirtaé smiles, sudden and soft. “I spent eight years by her side every day. And was a good friend to her even after that. In there… well I’ve garnered quite a lot of stories about her. I could tell you some.”

Luke leans forward, unable to hide his eagerness. “I’d like that.”

.

Over the next couple of days, Wedge grows used to Jahon’s strong hands. He’s still not entirely comfortable, but he suspects that has little to do with Jahon and more to do with his own personal hang-ups.

(Somehow, it was never this awkward with Kalonia’s revolving battery of nurses.)

Jahon tends to do the essentials in the morning, whilst Luke is out meditating on the balcony. Wedge doesn’t want Luke present for it – it’s mortifying enough as is – but it’s nice to have him close, to flick his eyes to the windows and know that Luke is there, that he’d been up in a second if Wedge needed him. The wounds on his hips from the external fixators are still healing, and need cleaning, and re-bandaging, something which Jahon takes considerable care with. “They’re healing well,” Jahon says, wiping disinfectant across them. Wedge attempts not to flinch as it stings. “Which is good. Last thing we need is for these to get infected.”

“Yeah.” Wedge has never had anything go bad, but Hobbie’s picked up some nasty infections along with his missing limbs over the years, and it’s enough to make one be really careful about such things.

Jahon takes fresh white bandages out of his medical bag, and proceeds to wind them gently around Wedge’s hips, covering the wounds. When that’s done, he snaps Wedge’s back brace back on, fastening the closures with a quick flick of his fingers. “Okay, that job’s done. Shouldn’t need to do it again for a couple of days, I think, you’ll be relieved to hear.” Jahon gives Wedge a dazzling smile, intended to be reassuring.

Wedge gives a small grin back. Anything that invasive that they can avoid on a daily basis sounds good to him.

“Now, possibly your second least favourite thing.” At least they’ve got Wedge’s least favourite thing out the way – he’ll be quite happy when he’s well enough to shuttle himself to the bathroom and back by himself. “Exercises.”

Wedge groans, just as Luke walks back in. He’s rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms, and smiling that golden smile of his. “Hey Wedge,” he says, and his voice is dripping with cheerful sunshine. “Jahon. How’s it going?”

“Hey Luke.” Jahon has a talent for being relentlessly chipper, regardless of anything going on around him. Wedge is surrounded by wall-to-wall positivity. “You’re just in time for range-of-motion exercises.” Wedge groans, again, just in case Jahon didn’t hear his displeasure about it first time round. “Yes, Wedge, I know you hate them, but if you don’t do them it’s going to be about a thousand times worse when the actual physical therapy rolls around and you try to walk again. So we’re doing them. Like it or not.”

“I got an entire lecture from Kalonia on them, Wedge,” Luke says. “And I got the impression that if I didn’t make sure you did them, I’d be in major trouble next time she saw me. I’m not risking that. She showed me a bunch before we went.”

“Great.” Wedge knows that they’re speaking sense, but he’s tired – and he’s only been awake for a couple of hours. The last thing he wants is for them to move everything around, starting pain shooting through his nerves that’ll take a while to calm.

“You might know more than me, then. This isn’t really my speciality,” Jahon says, waving his hands. “I’m a general practice nurse, not a physio. I only got drafted in because I did a couple of years off-world clearing up war zones, therefore I know a little bit more about this sort of drastic injury than most. We don’t see a lot like this on Naboo. That’s why everyone’s so fascinated.”

“You aren’t a specialist?” Luke looks over in concern.

“I know what I’m doing well enough. When we get a little further along in your recovery, we’ll get someone else in. I mean, judging by both of your reactions to the medical team the first night, you don’t want anyone here who isn’t necessary.”

“No,” Wedge says, short and sharp. “I can’t say I’m fond of most medical practitioners, but I’d rather have you than that lot.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jahon gives a laugh, before turning to Luke. “Okay, Luke, show me what Kalonia showed you.”

Jahon steps backward, allowing Luke to step up to Wedge’s side. Luke decides to start with Wedge’s good leg. He runs his hands slowly down Wedge’s thigh, kneading softly as he goes, ensuring that blood is still circling efficiently through it. Picks up Wedge’s knee, bending it at the joint back and forth.

With a hand pinning Wedge’s ankle to the bed, Luke asks Wedge to push his leg upwards. Wedge pushes, and Luke feels the slightest of strains on his grip. He loosens it. The aim isn’t to pin Wedge down, but to provide a degree of resistance for Wedge to push against. “That’s good, Wedge,” Luke says, feeling Wedge’s effort. He reaches out with the Force, wanting to see how the energy is moving through Wedge’s body. It’s still badly twisted as a result of the injury, but… Luke can see the healing. They’re getting somewhere.

They do fifteen minutes or so of this, Jahon stepping in with a guiding hand where Luke is unsure. It’s still early days with this; it’ll build into a steady and solid routine. “You’re not too bad at this,” Jahon says, when he calls a stop to it.

Luke smiles, appreciative. “Thanks.” His hands are still on Wedge, though his touch has turned gentle and reassuring, stroking over bare skin and willing ease back to Wedge.

“I'm minded to make you do this every day,” Jahon says. “Wedge, you seem a lot calmer than when I do it.”

Wedge shrugs. “I think Luke might be a little gentler than you.” And the fact that, as far as Wedge is concerned, Luke’s touch is generally pleasing – warm and soft against his skin, affectionate, easy. He enjoys it – even if, yes, his legs are protesting the fact that they’ve been moved about.

“Well, we’ll see how it goes.” Jahon picks his medical bag off the bed, fastening it closed. “Okay, I’m almost done. Let's just move you into position – I want you sitting up at a fair incline today.” He faffs with pillows, moving them into place. Luke offers an extra hand where necessary. “It might ache after a little bit, that’s usual. If it gets too bad, ask Luke to move you – I think he should be able to do that on his own, but I’m around if you need me.”

Wedge settles back against the pillows. Jahon’s right; he’s further up than he’s used to. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Another smile from Jahon. He picks up his bag, backing away from the bed. “Then I’ll be taking my leave, I’ll see you this evening.” He’s out the room before Luke or Wedge can say anything else.

“He’s gotten quite efficient,” Luke notes, adjusting the covers over Wedge. He sets Kettch – despite Wedge’s best efforts, they’d found the toy in the bottom of his case – aside Wedge. Luke’s rewarded by a brief scowl, but Luke knows that Wedge might well be grateful for the toy some day.

“I like efficient,” Wedge says. “Leave him be. He’s nice. Much better than any of those other doctors Soruna tried to thrust on us.”

“As long as you’re happy.”

Wedge catches Luke’s hand, and smiles up at him. “I’m good, Luke.”

“Good.”

In a fit of daring – because Wedge, in this moment, is fully awake and cogent, and Luke’s been limiting his more overt displays of affection to when Wedge has been woozy with sleep or painkillers – Luke leans over and places a kiss to Wedge’s forehead. When he draws back, Wedge’s mouth is slightly open, and his eyes are wide, and he looks a little befuddled – but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m going to go and get us some tea,” Luke says. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

Luke slides his hand out of Wedge’s, Wedge’s grip slowly going loose. “Anything in particular you want?”

Wedge gives a quick smile. “Biscuits, if you can get them, to go with it. And good ones.”

“Whatever you want, love.” The word slips from Luke’s mouth before he’s even aware he’s saying it, and Wedge’s eyebrows raise slightly. Luke, in a manner not entirely befitting a Jedi master, scarpers. He’s not sure he’s ready to broach that conversation yet.

And Wedge, freed from the immediate query of why, won’t bring it up either. Luke knows him that well. In ten minutes, when he returns, they’ll be back to how they always have been: two very close friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got strangely in to writing Jahon, oops - he's a bit of a stalwart in this fic, so I hope you all like him. (@dolly-bassett fancast him as Jamie Bamber, if you are looking for someone to picture, but I don't really subscribe to OC casting so! please imagine whoever you want!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Luke and Wedge properly settle in to Naboo, a force ghost makes an appearance, and Luke turns out to be very good with his hands.

They fall into an easy routine on Naboo.

Wedge wakes up in his bed. There will be sunlight peaking through the curtains – unless it is very early morning – and it carries the soft haze of dawn light long past sunrise, distorted and filtered as it reflects off the lake. It makes waking a pleasant experience. Some days, Luke is still sat in the chair by Wedge’s bedside; some days, he’s managed to make it to the sofa across the room, catching some sleep amongst a pile of blankets and cushions. Since they arrived, Luke hasn’t slept a night in his own bed. He wants to always be near Wedge. Just in case he’s needed.

Breakfast is brought to them, either by Madam Eirtaé or Laverna the cook. Almost every day, they’re left alone to eat, but occasionally Eirtaé will have news she wishes to share. She never lingers after she’s imparted the latest to them. Luke will help Wedge into an upright position, to make it easy for him to eat. Once breakfast is done, Jahon arrives, always prompt. With him comes the day’s allotted pain medication, and a string of medical tasks. Luke adjourns to the balcony for morning meditation, and when he returns he’s fully dressed and ready for the day.

With any luck, so is Wedge.

For the rest of the day, they’re left to their own devices. Ostensibly, that means Luke is supposed to be focusing on his search for the lost heritage of the Jedi. He certainly has brought enough of that with him to fool anyone who might think that was actually what he was doing. There are distractions lying in the Naboo archives, Eirtaé aiding in retrieving the forgotten memories and artefacts of Padmé Amidala’s reign, each one a window into the life of Luke’s mother. She ruled forty years ago but her reign already has its place in the history books. Amidala ushered Naboo into a new age, and defended it from a war it wasn’t ready to fight. There are odes to her in several texts. Luke spent an entire afternoon reading passages to Wedge, stopping after every paragraph in marvel.

Wedge finds it almost unbearingly sweet, knowing how much the absence of any knowledge about his mother has haunted Luke across the years. Here, he has almost everything he could ever want to know.

Eirtaé sits with them once, bringing stories of a reckless, wild, young Queen Amidala, and Wedge discovers that Eirtaé is sharp with an acerbic wit and a sense of humour almost as dark as his own. She’s good fun, and for the first time Wedge is glad that she’s around. Not just to see to the administrative side of things, but as an extra voice about the house. Taking care of them is not a full time job, though, and Wedge is starting to have suspicions about what Eirtaé might be doing in her spare time – and indeed, what she’s done in the years since she ceased to be Padmé Amidala’s handmaiden.

“She’s part of the Queen’s court – took a post in the guard service, she’s been responsible for training handmaidens. For Jamilla, for Appailana, and now for Soruna.”

“Yes, clearly, she’s just part of the Royal Guard.” Wedge shakes his head. He’s got a read on Eirtaé, and she screams military to him.

“What else do you think she’s up to?”

Wedge rolled his eyes. He’s hardly going to tell Luke that he thinks she’s running the entirety of the Naboo Security Forces from her office. If he hasn’t worked that out – well, he’ll get there eventually.

Wedge usually has a mid-afternoon nap, drifting off after doing some reading on a datapad. In early days, he read about military history and tactics, books he’d long meant to catch up on, but Luke had quickly confiscated them. Apparently, they were too much like work. Eirtaé had brought him a datachip with some of the great Naboo novels, but Wedge wasn’t finding much to interest him there. There’s far too much courtly intrigue for his taste.

He’ll have to ask Jahon for some recommendations, or to raid the library on his behalf. Somewhere there must be a novel or two that aren’t too taxing but still enjoyable. Wedge refuses to believe that every piece of entertainment on this planet is quite this dull.

That day, Wedge takes his afternoon nap as usual. He’s still yet to stay awake for a full day, which irks him a little. He’ll get maybe a couple of hours after lunch before his body rebels and sucks him down into exhaustion.

So he sleeps, for an hour or so, in the comfort of his bed. Easy enough.

He rouses slowly. That’s usual enough. Then he shuffles his leg and is met with a sudden jolt of pain.

He bites down on his lip, taken back by the ferocity of it. He holds everything very still and waits for it to pass. It should. Wedge knows his body by now. Sharp stabbing pain when he moves something is to be expected, and always feels worse when he’s not expecting it.

But this constant aching. That’s not. Wedge doesn’t usually feel like this after a nap, just when he wakes up first thing in the morning, and that’s only because the pain medication has usually worn off over night.

… Shit. Did he take his post-lunch painkillers?

He tries to think back, mind foggy. It’s not clear at all. He can’t remember taking them, but that doesn't mean anything. He could have easily forgotten.

If he did take them, they didn’t work. If he didn’t… well, that would explain the pain. He grits his teeth, attempting to stay as still as possible, ride it out. He looks for Kettch – but the stuffed toy must have been kicked somewhere else while Wedge slept, because Wedge can’t feel him anywhere. And Wedge really doesn’t want to admit that the toy that Wes had given him was actually any help. Wes would be far too gleeful at the idea.

Maybe he can fall back asleep. Closing his eyes, he tries to relax, sink into the pillows and feel the pain float away.

(Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t.)

He’s had worse, though, he dimly admits. This is bad, but it’s hardly the worst sort of pain he’s experienced. If he doesn’t move, then… it’s an ache. An awful one, but an ache none the less. Constant, but not sharp, or stabbing. He’ll manage.

Is Luke about? He wasn’t when Wedge first opened his eyes, but… Wedge glances around the room, grimacing as he does so. Luke’s sitting at the desk across the room, deep in concentration with some ancient books. Finally actually doing some of that research he said he’d come here to complete.

Wedge doesn’t want to disturb him. For all that the research is a ruse to stay here with Wedge, Wedge knows that Luke does actually have work that needs to be done. And he spends most of him time whilst Wedge is awake soothing him, or trying to keep his mind of things. Luke does so much for him already. It’s hardly necessary to disturb him; Wedge can cope with a bit of pain. So he closes his eyes and tries his best to ignore it and doze off.

“Cut it out.”

Wedge flicks his eyes open, glancing across at Luke. “Cut what out?” His voice catches as his back spasms, sending pain shooting through his spine. He stiffens, and hopes that Luke didn’t catch it.

No such luck.

“That.” Luke says. “Pretending you’re not in pain, you idiot. Do you want me to come over?”

“I don’t want to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me.” Luke drops the book he’s working on, standing up and making his way over. He stops on the way, scooping something up. “You’re far more important than that dusty book. It’ll still be in the exact same condition when I next get to it. You need me now.” He reaches Wedge’s side and places Kettch down on the bed, before leaning over and placing a hand on Wedge’s forehead, brushing stray strands of hair away. “Where does it hurt? What can I do?”

“The usual places,” Wedge mutters. There’s nothing special about this bout of pain. “Can you get me some painkillers? I think I skipped a dose.”

Luke furrows his brow. “Shit.” He casts his mind back, looking the slightest bit guilty as he does so. “Yeah, I don’t think you had them. No wonder you’re in pain.” He goes to fetch the case that Jahon left with the spare painkillers. “There’s more in here than there should be. So that would be a yes.” He returns, with a pill and a glass of water in hand. He places them on the bedside table. “You’re going to have to sit up a little to take them.”

Wedge nods. “I’m gonna need your help there.”

“I thought so.” Luke weaves his arms under Wedge’s back, pushing him upwards, and pulling a pillow into place. “How’s that?”

“It hurts.” Wedge grimaces. He’s not well positioned at all, but he knows this is only temporary. “Pain relief, please?” Luke hands over the pill, which Wedge pops in his mouth, then brings the glass up to Wedge’s lips. Wedge drinks slowly, swallowing the pill down. Luke stays close, stroking a thumb over Wedge’s cheekbone and brushing his hair behind his ears.

Wedge is still radiating pain. Luke knows it could be half an hour before the pain relief fully kicks in. Until then, he is Wedge’s only source of comfort – and he intends to do everything he can to help.

“Hey Wedge,” Luke whispers in the softest tone he can manage. “How you doing?”

Wedge lets out a groan. “Not great,” he admits. “This position isn’t helping. I was better off before.”

“I’ll move you back then.” Luke lifts Wedge again, shoving the pillow out the way with the force, then lowering him back down. Wedge shuffles, attempting to settle, and Luke knows that’s making it worse – he can feel it setting off additional spasms in his back. “Wedge, stop.” He places his hand on Wedge’s shoulder, gently, fingers settling on exposed skin. Wedge leans into the touch.

Luke can feel him soften in the Force.

He pushes the neckline of Wedge’s shirt – already wide and exposing – down a little, and runs his hand along Wedge’s shoulder. His thumb settles into a hollow, and he pushes it round in reassuring circles. “Does that help?” Luke queries, though he can feel Wedge relaxing. The pain hasn’t started to dim, but Wedge is no longer focused on it as completely as he was. Instead, his mind has strayed to tracking the feather-light touches of Luke’s fingers on his skin.

“Yeah.” Wedge’s voice sounds softer now, without the edge to it. “Luke—” There’s a yearning, questioning tone to his voice. “More?” He says the last word so quietly Luke can barely hear it, but there’s no mistaking Wedge’s desires.

“Of course.” Only, to give Wedge more, Luke has to temporarily withdraw his hand. Wedge makes a soft, slightly desperate, whining sound. “Give me a moment, love.” Luke strips off the surcoat he’s wearing (borrowed out of his Naboo wardrobe, one of the least offensive pieces in there), then his shirt – it’s got buttons on it that might irritate Wedge – leaving him in just his vest. He dumps them on the chair, along with his belt, and empties his pockets of the miscellaneous debris he’s collected over the course of the day, then unfastens his boots. He kicks them off easily, then walks quickly round to the other side of the bed.

He pushes a couple of the pillows onto the floor – there’s not enough space for them and him in the bed – and slides under the covers, making his way to Wedge’s side. “I’m here,” he whispers, pressing against Wedge’s side. He runs a hand from Wedge’s shoulder, down across his chest, and then over the back brace he’s wearing, paying careful attention to anything that makes Wedge flinch.

Wedge turns his head in Luke’s direction. His eyes are half closed, mouth settled into a soft line. He reaches out, hand settling in Luke’s vest, tugging gently. “Closer,” he mutters.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Luke says. His hands are fiddling with the back brace – he’s not convinced it’s doing Wedge any good at the moment. “I’m going to take this off, okay?” Wedge nods, and Luke flicks the clasps that are keeping it closed open, and peels it off Wedge. Once it’s free, Luke pushes the hem of Wedge’s shirt up just a little, exposing pale skin, still mottled with bruises.

“Don’t—” Wedge says. Luke flicks his gaze upwards. “Don’t look,” he says, averting his gaze.

“I won’t,” Luke promises. Now’s not the time to say that it doesn’t matter, that Wedge is beautiful regardless. It’ll fall on empty ears. Wedge isn’t ready to hear it; Luke isn’t in a position where he can offer that sort of reassurance without having to qualify it in some manner. “Is touch okay, though?” He keeps his hands hovering on the edge of Wedge’s shirt, waiting for permission.

“Yeah.”

Luke dips his hands in, stroking their way across Wedge’s belly, settling on the soft skin of his waist. The fingers of his left hand skim the edges of Wedge’s ribcage, causing a short laugh to emerge from Wedge’s lips. “Sorry,” Luke says.

“Not your fault I’m a bit ticklish,” Wedge mutters. “I don’t mind.”

That’s good to know. When Wedge is better, well enough to withstand a little rough-housing, Luke intends to rediscover all the ticklish spots on Wedge’s body. “Still,” Luke says, moving his hand back to Wedge’s waist. “Not the point of the exercise.”

“What is the point to the exercise?” There’s a soft smile on Wedge’s face, his mouth upturned into a grin, and his eyes sparkling with delight.

“To make you feel better.”

Luke rests his head on the pillow beside Wedge’s, his chin knocking on Wedge’s shoulder. It means he can look at Wedge, get a sense for whether what he’s doing is working. His right hand has slipped round Wedge’s back, while his left is still playing up and down Wedge’s side, idly tracing patterns into Wedge’s skin.

“Then I think it’s working,” Wedge says, leaning his head towards Luke’s.

“In fairness, I think the painkillers are starting to kick in.”

“Eh.” Wedge doesn’t quite manage a shoulder shrug, but his intent is clear enough. “I think it’s you.”

The painkillers are _definitely_ kicking in, because they’re already loosening Wedge’s tongue. “A combined effort,” Luke says. He loosens his left hand, bringing it up above Wedge’s shirt, and strokes his thumb over Wedge’s collarbone, which is jutting out. Fingers splay over Wedge’s shoulder, and Luke pulls at Wedge’s shirt just enough to be able to press a kiss to Wedge’s skin.

Wedge lets out a soft gasp, arching his neck just the slightest amount. Luke takes the offered invitation, placing a soft wet kiss in closer, near a spot that he knows will make Wedge loose and limbless when Luke applies pressure in the right way. Then another one, to the edge of Wedge’s jaw, just off his chin. Luke tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of Wedge’s neck, tugging softly.

“I like that,” Wedge says.

Luke grins. “I know you do.” His mouth ghosts over Wedge’s skin as he says the words, and he rakes his hand further through Wedge’s hair.

“You’re a bloody tease, Skywalker,” Wedge says. One of his hands is tugging at the edge of Luke’s vest, trying to pull it out of Luke’s trousers. Luke decides to leave Wedge to it. He’s doing no harm.

“Am I?”

“Always have been.”

Luke pulls back a little, so he can look at Wedge. Wedge’s pupils are dark and wide, gazing at Luke. Between Luke’s administrations and the painkillers, the pain seems to have slipped from Wedge’s system – that, or he’s so distracted by Luke’s touch that he no longer cares about the pain. Luke’s eyes slip to Wedge’s mouth, Wedge’s bottom lip red and a little swollen from where he was biting down on it earlier.

It’s a slow movement, born of Wedge tugging at Luke’s shirt, and Luke’s hand gently bringing Wedge’s head closer to his, until they meet. Luke’s lips capture Wedge’s in a soft kiss. Luke tilts his head, just a little, to deepen it, feeling how soft Wedge’s mouth is under his. Luke scrapes his teeth over Wedge’s bottom lip as he pulls away, bumping against Wedge’s nose.

“That’s more like it,” Wedge says, his voice low and heavy. Luke can feel the warmth of his breath on his own lips.

Wedge is right, in a way; Luke should have done that sooner. He knows he loves Wedge – he admitted so much to Kalonia. And he’s never harboured serious doubts that Wedge doesn’t return his feelings. Whatever happens at the end of this, when Wedge is better, when Luke has to go back to being a Jedi – that shouldn’t mean they deprive themselves of this bit of comfort.

Luke kisses the tip of Wedge’s nose. “You feeling better?”

Wedge leans into Luke’s grip. “Yeah. Though I’m tired.”

Luke ruffles Wedge’s hair. “If you didn’t take your painkillers, your nap probably wasn’t quite as restful as you thought. Have another. It’s okay. I’m here.” He shuffles, careful not to jolt Wedge, so that Wedge is leaning against him, head resting against Luke’s shoulder.

“Good,” Wedge mutters.

.

In the week that follows, neither Luke or Wedge bring up the kiss, or make any move to instigate another.

Which, Luke reflects, is ridiculous. It’s hardly their first kiss – they’ve had dozens, hundreds, enough that Luke has lost count – but it is their first in a while, since their mutual, unspoken decision that this wasn’t working and they didn’t have space in their lives for each other, not like that. It warrants a discussion, Luke thinks.

(What happened on Endor was a blip, one that they didn’t speak about either; easy to dismiss on the high of the emotions of that evening.)

And ever since Wedge’s injury – since Wedge almost _died_ – Luke has been rethinking. Whether that was the right call. Whether it’s possible that they could make space for each other, that they could somehow find a way to navigate a relationship whilst not abandoning their duties. And whether that matters at all, when they could have this, even if it’s just for the short time that they’re on Naboo.

But then, that asks the question – could they really walk away from each other, when this all came to an end? Luke isn’t sure he can – and that’s not really the problem.

He’s almost certain he doesn’t want to, and that’s with their relationship still in this ambiguous, undefined state: could he tell Wedge he loved him, knowing that he might have to leave him?

He’s mulling all this over as he sits on the balcony, engaged in morning meditation. Then there’s a disturbance in the Force. Not a bad one, not an intrusion. A movement, something that cuts through the swirling calm that Luke has built up around him. It comes up from bind him, stepping across and past Luke to stand at the edge of the balcony.

Luke opens his eyes to see Anakin Skywalker staring out across the lake.

“Father.” Luke scrambles to his feet. “How are you?”

“This lake is still as beautiful as the first time I saw it,” Anakin says. His voice is wretched with emotion. He’s clenching the balcony rail with firm hands, as Luke steps up beside him. “Not that I was paying much attention to it then. I had Padmé by my side and… I’d been captivated by her since the first time I saw her. Everything else fell away when I was with her.” He turns to his son. “Which wasn’t very Jedi-like of me, in retrospect.”

“You loved her,” Luke says. “That’s the most important thing.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything in response. Luke knows he’s only grasping at the edge of the relationship between his parents. He’s learnt a little more since he came to Naboo, about how his parents first met, and the events that Eirtaé suspects led to their relationship. But what she can tell him isn’t enough to _know_. “We got married, on this balcony,” he says. “Just us, the priest, and our droids.”

Luke takes a sharp breath in, suddenly studying the surfaces with new light. He tries to imagine what it might have been like, two youngsters swept up in passion making an impulsive decision that would define the rest of their lives. Tries to picture it, them standing there – they must have been so young, just before the war, before _everything_ changed.

“I think Artoo made a recording,” Anakin’s voice hasn’t lost any of its intensity. “It’s probably still rattling around his memory circuits.”

Luke shakes his head, in disbelief. It’s like when Soruna came; so much information, all at once. It’s too much. He drops to the floor, trying to take it all in. “I’ll have to ask him for it at some point,” he says. He could watch his parents’ wedding. That idea is… beyond what Luke thought he might find, when he came to Naboo.

“He’s probably got a lot more than that, in fairness.” Anakin drops down to sit beside Luke. “If you can get it out of him, which was always the difficult part.”

“Was he always so awkward?”

“Possibly? Certainly from the time when he was mine – Padmé and I traded the droids as a wedding gift, she gave me Artoo and I gave her Threepio—”

“—Threepio?” Luke’s jaw drops. “C-3PO? My droid?”

“The same,” Anakin nods. “I built him as a kid to help out my mom. And then I gave him to Padmé, because what use did a Jedi have for a Protocol Droid? He was better with her. Maybe they weren’t the most romantic of gifts, but… they suited us well enough.”

“You gave what you could, what you had.” Luke recognises the tradition; weddings on Tatooine happen that way, the passing of an important possession to the trust of another person. He sees what his father did. He wonders if his mother knew. “There’s a romance in that.”

“The Jedi Order didn’t exactly raise me with romance in mind.”

Luke makes a humming noise. “I’ve read about that. No attachments. No romance. No family.” He laughs. “And yet a master-padawan system that forms lasting bonds, a creche system that grants you siblings – the Order was fooling itself. No more of that, I think.”

“So, the young man in there?” Anakin inclines his head towards the doors, to where Wedge is lying, still on bedrest. “What is he to you?”

There isn’t any judgement in Anakin’s voice, just curiosity. A desire to know who the important people in his son’s life are, and an acknowledgement that Luke doesn’t owe him any answers.

“Wedge?” Anakin nods. “I love him.”

“Have you told him that?” Anakin asks, sensing that there’s something more.

Luke bows his head. “Not in as many words, I guess. I want to think he knows… but—” Anakin places a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer a reassuring presence. “I think he has the same fears and worries about a relationship as I do. How we’d make it work. Whether to risk our hearts on something that might not work.”

“I’m not exactly one to be offering advice,” Anakin says. “I tried to impress Padmé by levitating a pear across the table—”

“You did what?” Luke pulls a face, baffled. “Did it work?”

“Not really. Hardly my finest hour. But I do have some words for you: the time I got with Padmé, the moments that we stole during the war – those were the happiest moments of my life. She was what I lived for. And if you’ve got a chance at something like that, someone who could bring some light and love into your life… don’t wait for it, Luke.”

Luke closes his eyes, letting that sink in. His father’s words resonate some place deep within him. He’s right. Force but he wants that with Wedge. To come home to Wedge’s soft smile, to hear him complain about his day and share that with him, all the worries Luke has about restoring the Jedi Order. He can’t imagine doing it with anyone who isn’t Wedge. And they’ve got this time now.

“I’ll—” Luke doesn’t know how to put any of this into words. “Thank you.”

“For the terrible advice?” Anakin grins, gripping Luke’s shoulder tightly and then releasing it. “Not a problem. Happy to help. Now—” Anakin looks towards the doors that open to Wedge’s room. “Go be with him.”

Luke flicks his gaze over to the doors. When he glances back, only a moment later, Anakin’s ghost is no longer there. Having imparted whatever wisdom he had to offer, he’s vanished, leaving Luke to go to Wedge.

Well. Luke doesn’t need to be told twice.

.

“You’ll never guess who just stopped by,” Luke says, slipping into the chair by Wedge’s bedside.

Wedge is propped up by a solitary pillow today, back lying almost parallel to the bed. It’s a very small incline; they’ve been attempting to increase it, to make Wedge feel like he’s sitting up, instead of lying in bed all day. But he spent the morning complaining about backache, so Jahon has lowered him right back down again, with a view to reviewing it as the week goes on.

Wedge has been looking a little under the weather because of it, but he allows himself a small smile in response to Luke’s amused grin. He raises his eyebrows, a hint of imprudence on his face. He knows he’s not going to guess, but will try anyway. “The Queen?”

Luke laughs. “No, but I wouldn’t put it past her to appear randomly at some point.”

“Well, I give up then. Tell me.”

“My father.”

Wedge lets out an audible gasp. The incredulity is clear on his face for a moment, before he schools it into surprise. “What?”

“My father,” Luke repeats. Force ghosts are not a new concept to Wedge. They formed a part of Luke’s explanation for his disappearance from Hoth, but – being force-null – Wedge’s personal experience is limited, and he’s still a little doubtful about the idea. And then he thinks, examining Wedge’s still shocked face, that it might be less about the force ghosts, and more about the nature of Anakin Skywalker. Of all Luke’s friends, Wedge is the one who accepts and understands Luke’s feelings towards his father the most, that Anakin lurked inside Darth Vader and Luke managed to redeem him. It’s that fragment that is here with him now. “He appears to me sometimes, just like Ben Kenobi did,” Luke adds, for clarity’s sake.

“Ohh.” Wedge still looks stunned. “Did he have anything to tell you?”

Luke considers his father’s words.

“Did you know that he tried to impress my mother by levitating a pear across the table?” comes out before he can process any of the things he _wants_ to tell Wedge, any of the things his father told him that he _should_ tell Wedge.

“Well, no,” Wedge responds. “Why on earth would anyone do that? I can’t think of a single person who’d be impressed with that, let alone the former Queen of Naboo. Hadn’t she already met several Jedi at that point?”

“So, what you’re saying is that if I ever want to seduce someone, then I shouldn’t bother levitating fruit?” Luke raises an eyebrow, his tone clearly teasing.

“I’d advise against it.” Wedge looks up, meeting Luke’s gaze. “And you’ve never been that badly off in that department to start on measures that desperate, besides.”

“Good to know.”

A silence settles, and Luke attempts to gather his thoughts. His father was right. Wedge makes him happy, and Luke should tell Wedge that. But, as he opens his mouth to try and voice any of the things he’s felt over the past weeks, a fear climbs into his chest. What if Wedge doesn’t feel the same way? Luke has him as a captive audience at the moment; Wedge needs Luke, for company, and to nurse, and to be there for him. Luke has no right to disrupt what Wedge needs by bringing unwanted feelings into the mix.

“Luke?” Luke is brought out of his thoughts by Wedge. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Luke brushes it off. He’ll hold back. What they’ve got – that’s enough for now. There will be time later, when their relationship will lie on more equal ground, for them to discuss exactly what they mean to each other.

Wedge cocks his head, unsure. “Really? Cause it looked like you were about to say something.”

Luke shakes his head, leaning across to take Wedge’s hand. “No, nothing.” He plasters a smile on his face, hoping that it’s convincing.

He’s got no idea whether Wedge is convinced, but Wedge drops it. “Have you got work to do, or can we watch the next episode of _Dancing with the Stars_?” he asks.

Luke reaches for the datapad on the bedside table, loading the holo up. “You know, I think I can make some time.” Upon discovering that the palace library was not very well stocked with fiction that was to Wedge’s taste, he’d sent a request out for recommendations. Snap had sent back a rec for this trashy holo show, where celebrities of the core elite learnt to dance. Luke and Wedge had got a little hooked. “So, who do you think is leaving this time? I thought Ryshal and Pollun looked a little rocky.”

“Eh, could be Xuija and Bo’s time to go,” Wedge says. He goes on, as the title music starts playing, about the strengths and weaknesses of the various couples. Luke pulls his chair a little closer to the bed, and settles in.

He likes this. This is enough.

.

The sun is setting, spilling low light over the room. From the bed, Wedge watches as Luke’s features are slowly illuminated, bringing out his features in sharp relief. He’s staring out the window, contemplating something – more Jedi stuff, Wedge suspects. It doesn’t really matter. He looks like he belongs, decked in a red surcoat with golden embroidery, sitting amongst all the finery.

He looks like a prince, Wedge thinks. He is, in a roundabout way, as his mother was a queen – even if that was long ago. And yet – he went to court today, to deal with a couple of pressing matters and collect some books from the palace library, and when he came back he just flopped into the chair beside Wedge and told Wedge he missed him. He could be anywhere, and yet… Wedge is lucky enough to have him.

That takes Wedge’s breath away.

“You alright?” Jahon asks. He’s doing something – honestly, Wedge has stopped asking, it’s unobtrusive enough that he’d almost forgotten Jahon was there.

“Yeah,” Wedge replies, tearing his gaze away from Luke. “I’m fine. Why?”

Wedge hopes that Jahon didn’t catch him staring, or the way his breath went short and his heart started to race as he thought of Luke. He likely did. Then Wedge hopes that he has the decency to not bring it up when Luke’s in earshot.

Jahon shrugs. “You’re just carrying a fair amount of tension.” He prods lightly at Wedge’s shoulders, and down his back. “And I don’t think it’s all to do with the injury.” He focuses his hand on the muscle behind Wedge’s shoulder bone for a minute. “Here. That doesn’t hurt right?”

Wedge thinks for a moment. “No, not really. It just sort of aches. Not really painful.” Now that Jahon’s pointed it out, though, he can feel the ache roll all through his back, muscles dimly protesting.

Jahon muses for a moment. “Look, I’m going to leave it for now. If it gets worse, you’re going to have to tell me – I can get a massage therapist in. Actually, that might not be a bad idea in general. There's a plan to see how you cope with a hoverchair in a week or so, and that’s probably going to be pretty miserable for the first couple of days. It would probably do you good.”

Wedge frowns. He’s got to grips with Jahon, but the idea of another stranger with their hands all over his body… he’s not sure he likes it.

“Have a think,” Jahon says, catching Wedge’s displeasure. “I’m not going to push you into it. Just wanted to make you aware that it might help.”

Wedge nods. “Okay.”

Jahon leans back, taking his weight off the bed. “And that’s me done for the evening. I’ll leave you in Luke’s capable hands.” And, with the efficiency that Wedge has come to expect from Jahon, he’s gathered his things and left before Wedge can get another word in.

The slight thud of the door closing disturbs Luke, who flicks his head up and across to Wedge. “He's getting more efficient at that.”

“Yeah.” Wedge leans back, into the support of the pillows, and attempts to settle. It's always difficult, when he's been disturbed, even though he's now used to the way his body aches after a long day.

“There anything new I should be aware of?”

Wedge knows that Luke intentionally ignores most of the conversations between Wedge and Jahon, in an attempt to give Wedge some privacy, to let Wedge choose what Luke knows. It's a silly thing, but Wedge appreciates it. “Not much. I think they might finally be considering letting me out of this bed – Jahon mentioned something about a hoverchair.”

“That's good news,” Luke says.

“I guess?” Wedge is indeed sick of his bed, but in the back of his mind he's still aware of how difficult it is to sit up for any period of time, and that a chair is likely to make that worse. “And he wants me to think about seeing a massage therapist.”

Luke laughs. “Do you want a massage?”

Wedge thinks about his aching back, and the tension that he's holding in his shoulders. It's hardly pleasant. “Are you offering?” he shoots back, teasingly.

To Wedge’s surprise, Luke stands up, pushing his sleeves up, exposing strong forearms. “If you want one.” He steps over, kicking off his slippers as he slides onto the bed. His weight makes it dip slightly, as he settles beside Wedge.

“I mean, I was kidding.” But there was something very genuine in Luke’s tone. Wedge lets his eyes settle on Luke, taking the other man in. The golden skin of his exposed forearms, and the firmness of his hands, his chiselled, square fingers. Wedge is no stranger to how good Luke is with his hands, even if that was in a different context. “But… it would be nice.”

Luke’s face quirks up into a smile. “Only if you’re sure, Wedge.”

Wedge is; and he’s made even more certain by the fact that Luke’s already absent-mindedly stroking a random pattern onto the back of Wedge’s hand. He thinks of how Luke’s hands might feel elsewhere on his skin, tracing patterns and lines, kneading sore muscles and easing tension. Then he realises that Luke’s still waiting for an answer from him. “I’m sure, Luke.”

The resultant grin is worth saying the words. Luke splays his hand, running it up Wedge’s arm, grip firm but not tight. He’s trying to get a feel for this. When he reaches Wedge’s shoulder, he digs his fingers in, applying pressure. Wedge closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation, on the warmth of Luke’s hand, how on release his muscles work loose and he can feel some of the tension beginning to drain. He lets out a quiet gasp, his mouth falling open. It’s good already, and it’s barely begun.

“How does that feel?” Luke asks. Wedge isn’t sure quite what his face is doing, but he would wager money that Luke knows exactly how it feels, between Wedge’s expression and Luke’s command of the Force.

“Good,” Wedge responds. He tries to lean into the touch, reach for Luke’s other hand – why isn't that one doing anything, where is it? – but Luke stops him.

“Careful,” Luke says, rubbing firm circles into the juncture where Wedge’s neck meets his shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t think this is the best position for this to be done in.”

“I’m not fragile,” Wedge argues. He’s possibly a little impatient, eager for Luke’s touch.

Luke chuckles, staring at Wedge. “I hate to say it, but you are the very definition of fragile right now.” He grazes his hand along Wedge’s jaw, pushing slightly to direct Wedge’s gaze at him. “That’s not a bad thing. You need looking after. Let me do it.”

Wedge fidgets, itching for more. Luke’s hands are warm on his skin, and he can feel the heat even as Luke’s hands slide down his front, to fumble with the catches on his back brace. “Okay. Okay Luke.”

Luke pushes the brace clear, with a firm stroke of his hand across Wedge’s belly, that makes Wedge go soft and limp. He knows it’s not intended to be a tender touch, but Luke takes care with every moment. He’s gentle as he lifts Wedge up a little, to slide the brace completely free, dumping it on the bedside table. “That’s better,” Luke says, raking his eyes over Wedge, who’s lying prone on a bed of pillows. Wedge melts, just a little, under the intensity of Luke’s gaze. It’s completely exposing. “I think this is probably going to be easiest if we can get you on your front? If that’s okay with you?”

Wedge considers. He knows that the move will be a little uncomfortable, but Luke’s probably right. It’ll make this all easier. And he has no doubt that Luke will make any moment of pain or discomfort completely worth it. “Do it.”

“Also…” Luke’s hands tug at the edges of Wedge’s shirt. A pretty blush has bloomed on his cheeks, and he looks a little bashful. “Do you want this off?”

He’s already pushing it up, his fingers brushing against Wedge’s skin. He’s averting his eyes, remembering perhaps, how earlier Wedge had asked him not too look. And Wedge is still concerned about that, about what Luke might make of the bruising and the scars, but… Luke’s hands, on bare skin. That’s worth it. Even if Luke does look, it won’t be for long. “Yeah,” Wedge says. “Go for it.”

“You’re going to have to sit up a bit,” Luke says, but he’s already helping Wedge up, with firm hands supporting Wedge’s waist. Once he’s satisfied that Wedge can sustain his position for long enough to get the shirt off, Luke unbuttons the closure at the top, and then pushes it up, hands brushing over Wedge’s ribs. It goes over Wedge’s head, rumpling his hair, and then Wedge pulls his arms free. Luke tosses the shirt aside onto the floor.

Luke smiles, running a hand through Wedge’s hair to smooth it back down. His expression is dearly and desperately affectionate, and Wedge feels his cheeks go warm. He’s still struggling to believe that Luke is here with him, being so attentive.

“I’m going to lie you down, then roll you over,” Luke says. “I think that’s the best way.” Wedge nods, happy to go along with whatever Luke feels is best. “Give me a minute, though.” Wedge cranes his head, to see what Luke’s doing. Ditching the surcoat, apparently. It’s tossed aside unceremoniously, leaving Luke in his shirt – sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, and the collar unfastened.

A pang of desire rips through Wedge, settling deep in his gut. If he was better, if he could move of his own volition – he’d be over there in a moment, pinning Luke to the bed. He’d kiss the hollow of Luke’s throat, use his tongue to map the hard lines of Luke’s collarbone, listen as he reduced Luke to a quivering mess there on the bed, panting and begging for release.

As it is, Wedge is the one on the bed, barely able to contain his desire – not for that, but for the intimacy and touch and comfort that he’s lucky enough for Luke to offer him.

Luke’s hands dig into his shoulder and his hip, grip firm as he prepares to roll Wedge over. “You ready?” Wedge nods, then grits his teeth. As expected, the movement hurts – suddenly the weight on his hips is different and there’s a reason that Jahon is adamant that he’s not allowed to sleep on his side. But then he’s on his front, and Luke is shoving pillows at him, and it’s not so bad.

“That alright?” Luke asks. He trails a hand down Wedge’s back, along the ridges of Wedge’s spine, and it makes Wedge shudder. He gasps, and he can hear Luke’s laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Then both of Luke’s hands are on his shoulder blades, the ridges of his palms pushing upwards into stiff muscle. “Relax, okay.”

Wedge doesn’t think he’s going to have a problem with that. He settles in against the pillow he’s leaning on, pressing his face into his arms, and closing his eyes. Like this, he can concentrate on every stroke of Luke’s hands across his shoulders.

Luke’s fingers press into Wedge’s upper-back, kneading small circles, untangling a knot of tension that’s resided there for force only knows how long. He’s slow, letting his fingers linger as they press across the surface of Wedge’s skin. It’s careful, and it’s tender, and everything Wedge has come to expect from Luke over these past weeks. Just Luke’s touch would be something, soothing away the pain, but he’s working out knots and aches that have been bothering Wedge for months, melting him like honey, into something soft and warm.

As Luke digs into the small of Wedge’s back, Wedge lets out a moan, that’s low and keening and straining through his throat. Luke repeats the action, with a little more heft behind it, and Wedge gasps in bliss. His mind goes blank momentarily, overwhelmed with the sensation. When he comes back to himself, he can hear Luke chuckling softly above him. “I’m guessing you liked that.” He leans down to press a kiss to the back of Wedge’s neck, and for a fleeting moment Wedge can feel Luke’s weight on his back, pressing him down, encircling him, just the thin fabric of Luke’s shirt separating them. It’s intoxicating, the closeness, the warmth, the heat.

And then Luke is gone, and they’ve lost that full-body contact, but then… Luke’s hands are back, pressing into Wedge’s skin. Working carefully at the small of his back, and then down a little lower, where the worst of the damage was. His fingers skim at the waistband of Wedge’s trousers, a tantalising touch that sparks memories again in Wedge’s head, of what they had been. What they can’t have now – because Wedge recognises that he’s too injured to seriously contemplate anything like that – let alone the fact that, well, they aren’t like that.

( _He kissed you_ , Wedge’s brain whispers to him. And yes, well, that’s all well and good, but that was over a week ago, and they’ve made no mention of it since. It was comfort, plain and simple, and there was no indication that it meant anything more.)

Luke traces his fingers up Wedge’s spine, feeling over each bony ridge. Wedge has always been on the lean side, but Luke’s sure that they’ve never been this pronounced before. As he reaches Wedge’s neck, he splays his hands wide and spreads them out over Wedge’s shoulders. That’s where Wedge is carrying the most tension; a hold-over, Luke suspects, from years of piloting, and unrelated to the injury.

He uses his thumb to work lines of pressure across Wedge’s shoulderblade, feeling his way with the Force. Wedge is pouring out contentment, a type of bliss that Luke’s more used to associating with an activity overly more amorous than what’s currently happening. Luke presses a kiss to Wedge’s shoulder, soft and lingering. He gets a low gasp in response, a shortness of breath from Wedge.

“Breathe, love,” Luke says. He moves his hand in long, firm strokes over Wedge’s back, and slows his own breathing down, so that Wedge can breathe deep with him. He can feel Wedge’s ribcage rise and fall, as his lungs fill with air. “That’s better.”

He resumes his attentions on Wedge, rubbing his hands over Wedge’s back, feeling his callouses drag over smooth skin. A moan rumbles through Wedge, as he shudders in response. But it’s a pleasant one. Luke can tell.

(It’s nice to hear Wedge, for once. The man can talk and babble his way through sex like no one’s business, but in all the time Luke’s known him, every time he took Wedge to his bed; he’s never been vocal, not like this.)

He carries on, working until Wedge is utterly limp, until all the knots and the tension have gone, until Wedge is quietly mewling with pleasure on the bed. Then he drops down beside Wedge. He still keeps an arm round Wedge’s shoulders, fingers idly tracing nonsense across Wedge’s back, as he noses at Wedge’s shoulder.

Wedge turns his head, just enough so that he’s facing Luke.

“You alright?” Luke asks.

“Yeah,” Wedge replies, in little more than a whisper, his voice soft and sticky and barely there. “Luke, I—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Luke thinks he understands anyway. A fierce wave of affection pulses off Wedge in that moment. “That was nice. Thank you.”

Luke smiles. It’s not difficult to see how much Wedge enjoyed it, and it delights him that he can manage to make Wedge feel this way, that he can bring him pleasure even amongst all this pain. “No problem.” He leans in, navigating his way to press a kiss on Wedge’s cheek. “I told you, anytime, Wedge. I’m here for you.”

Wedge sighs with contentment. “I might take you up on that,” he says, closing his eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, and Luke stays as he does so.

When he’s satisfied that Wedge is asleep, Luke disentangles himself. It’ll do Wedge no good to sleep like this, he realises, and it’ll get him in no end of trouble with Jahon. So, using the Force to ensure that Wedge isn’t disturbed, Luke moves him, rolling him back onto his back, positioning him against the pillows. He contemplates putting the back brace back on, but… Wedge can probably cope without it, just for a night. As long as he’s sleeping in the right position.

Luke pulls the sheets up, covering Wedge. He brushes Wedge’s hair out of his eyes, then cups Wedge’s jaw. Leaning down to press a kiss to Wedge’s forehead, he whispers: “Sleep tight, my love.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is yet more pain, something resembling a confession, a bath and a baby.

“I don’t know if he’s ready for this.”

Luke knows that it’s impossible to be more nervous about this than Wedge is. But still, he’s twitching, drumming his fingers on the balcony ledge, having been banished. Inside, the Queen’s doctor performs a full check-up on Wedge. If he passes it, they’re going to start him with a hover chair. It’ll give him back some much needed freedom, but…

Well, there’s Wedge’s past track record with doctors who aren’t Kalonia, which isn’t great. They’ve left Jahon in to supervise, and help with some of the more intimate parts of the examination, and that had helped Wedge’s nerves a little. The doctor had not looked impressed when Eirtaé had told him that Jahon was in charge, and that he had full authority to stop the examination at any time he saw fit.

Even without that, Luke knows that this is going to be painful. They’ve dealt alright with the range-of-motion exercises over the last week or so, but they still leave Wedge aching and in a lot of pain, pain that Luke does his best to soothe but even he can only go so far. He knows that the chair, and the requisite exercises that go with it, are just going to make things worse.

Besides Luke, Eirtaé places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She’d been banished as well – though Luke suspects she never harboured any illusions about staying – and chose to keep Luke company. Luke’s grateful for her presence. “That decision rests with him, and the medical professionals,” Eirtaé says. “Jahon knows him well now. He won’t push him into something he’s not ready for. Your concern is sweet, Luke, but…” She gives him a quick grin. “I fear if it were up to you, you’d swaddle him in cotton wool and never let him be hurt again. His recovery is going to be difficult. You’ve always known this.”

“Yes,” Luke says. “And I wouldn’t do that. He’s been through too much – he’s a pilot, a fighter pilot, putting himself in danger is what he does and his choice. But… is it so wrong to not want to cause him any unnecessary pain?”

“No,” Eirtaé says. “Of course it isn’t. But I feel that your definition of unnecessary and the medical definition may differ slightly.”

Luke sighs. She’s probably right. If it was up to him… Wedge wouldn’t be doing any of this. But it is necessary, for his recovery, if he wants to be back up and back into a cockpit.

(Whether _that_ will even be possible is up for debate; and no one is willing to comment one way or the other.)

He leans over the balcony, looking out towards the water. It’s a beautiful shade of deep blue today, shimmering jewel-like below them. “I can believe that,” he tells her. “Doesn’t make it any easier to watch him struggle.”

“No, it doesn’t. But stay with him. Let him fight his battles; just support him through it.” Eirtaé pulls at the long skirts of her gown, stepping towards him. “That’s all you can do. Remember that however hard it is for you, it’s harder for him.”

Luke nods. “Yeah.”

“Now,” Eirtaé settles on one of the stone benches. “I’m guessing we might be out here a while. Would you like to hear about the time Padmé turned the junior legislature upside down on suspicions of corruption, and it turned out that a pet lothcat had merely been making mischief with the records?” Her grin is wide, and Luke suspects that this will be a fabulous story.

“Sure.” He sits down next to her. He needs to have something to keep his mind off Wedge, or he’ll go out of his mind with worry.

.

Wedge looks across at the metal contraption. The chair. It’s being floated as a device that’s going to give him back some much needed freedom, but Wedge can help but feel like it’s just going to provide a world of hurt.

Everything aches already from the thoroughness of the medical examination. Contemplating something that will undoubtedly make it worse is horrifying. His back is twitching, spasms echoing in the lower part of his spine. Apparently, it’s a positive sign, of his nerves reconnecting. Wedge just knows that it’s causing him a lot of pain.

(And even if Luke has proved most expert at soothing that pain away, Wedge still has no desire to invite it into his life.)

Jahon’s sat beside him on the bed. He’s talking about something or other. “—to lift yourself with your arms.”

“Huh?”

Jahon looks over and sighs. “You weren’t paying a scrap of attention, were you?”

Wedge shakes his head. “Sorry.”

Jahon rolls his eyes. “You know, I thought by sending Luke out I’d removed the most pressing distraction. What’s on your mind?”

Jahon’s right; if Luke was here, right now, Wedge’s focus would probably be on him. He finds it remarkably easy for his focus to slip these days from whatever he’s doing or watching to Luke, wherever he is. Even with him out on the balcony, Wedge can’t help but wonder exactly what’s going on with him.

“Just…” There’s nothing in particular, just the general concerns, and the ever-constant low-level background pain. “Nothing much. What were you saying?”

Jahon purses his lips. “If there is anything – _anything –_ you need to get off your chest, I’m here to listen, okay? Your mental health is important too.” He looks serious and intent for a moment, then moves past it. Knowing that Wedge will be embarrassed if he lingers on it. “I was talking about how you’re going to get in and out of the chair. If necessary, Luke or myself can lift you in and out of it, but that still leaves you very dependent on us. I think it would be good if you can manage it yourself. I think you’re physically capable of it. There’s just a bit of practice involved.”

“Okay.” After Akiva, he hadn’t needed a chair, just a cane. And before that, when he’d broken his leg, he’d been laid up in bed, but then he’d been clear to hobble around with his cast. This is new. “Show me.”

Jahon does. It involves shuffling to the edge of the bed, and carefully balancing his weight on his arms, and a careful transfer to the chair. Jahon makes it look easy enough, but Jahon doesn’t have debilitating spinal injuries, or a broken leg, or been laid up in bed for months. Wedge suspects that might make a bit of a difference.

“You want to try?” Jahon asks, gesturing at the chair. “Or we can lift you in, just for the first time. That’s no worry.”

Wedge grits his teeth, and digs his fingers into the sheets. “I’ll give it a shot. You’re right. I should be able to manage this by myself.”

Jahon cocks his head. “Are you absolutely sure?” There’s an element of concern on his face which seems to indicate that despite all of his earlier pronouncements about the importance of Wedge learning to do this himself, he’s not entirely sure about it.

“Yes.”

“Alright.” Jahon gives Wedge a grin, but it’s tapered down from his usual sunshine-wide smile. He calls the doctor back over, and pulls the chair closer to the bed. And then he steps back, just enough to give Wedge the requisite space to do this on this own.

Even shuffling to the edge of the bed is hard. Wedge suddenly understands why he’s barely been allowed to move for weeks on end now. His muscles, sore from disuse – even though he’s been keeping up with every exercise he’s supposed to be doing – are alight in protest. His hips sting from the weight that’s now pressing down on them, even more intently than when he’d just been sitting up in the bed. There, he’d had all sorts of supports, that had distributed the weight much more evenly.

He’s going to have to favour his right side here. Otherwise there’s the cast on his left leg to worry about, and that’s already enough of a pain. Hooking his right foot on the rest at the bottom of the chair, he prepares to shift himself over. Jahon had been stern that he’s not supposed to put any weight on either of his legs; all the power has to come from his arms. He pushes up, lifting his hips clear from the bed…

… and collapses under his own weight.

His arms go from under him, snapping from the hold he’d got them in. His foothold isn’t nearly secure enough to help him, without the concern of the weight. He desperately grasps at anything, for a hold, to pull himself up and try again, but he’s sliding.

Strong arms pull him up and drag him from the bed to the chair. He blinks his eyes – his eyes are wet, when did that happen? When he opens them again, he’s looking up at Jahon, whose eyes are wide with concern.

“Well,” Jahon says, in a tone that is striving for lightness but has just enough strain in it for Wedge to know that that’s untrue. “That went well. We’ll work up to that, I think.”

“Fuck,” Wedge mutters. The chair has armrests, and he wraps his hands round them. He’s shaking, even as he attempts to get a grip.

He should be able to do this. Moving from the bed into a chair. That’s such a small thing. It should be difficult. And it seems like he can’t even do that properly. It’s all very well saying that they’ll work up to it, but it’s taken this long for them to even let him attempt it. How long’s it going to take for him to actually do it? And that’s only the first very small step on his road to recovery.

How long is he going to be like this?

Sure, it’s nice, being here with Luke, to relax and just enjoy each other’s company, but there’s no chance this idyllic hideaway they’ve created for themselves is going to last. Luke might have said he wants to stay, wants to be with Wedge, but… sooner or later there’s going to come a crisis that Luke can’t ignore, that Wedge won’t let him ignore, and when that day comes…

Wedge wants to be well enough to go with him, to help him, to fly with him, and right now that thought of that seems impossible.

And everything hurts, he realises. It’s nothing like sitting up in the bed. The chair is awful. His back is aching after only a few minutes – what’s it going to be like sitting here for an hour? More? There’s little point to this unless he can do a full morning or an afternoon in it. The cast on his leg wasn’t designed with the chair in mind, and he’s holding his leg at an odd angle.

Kriff.

Wedge isn’t sure he can do this. It hurts. It fucking hurts, and it’s going to continue to hurt, and if he wants to get better he’s going to have to keep pushing himself through this pain and… he’s twenty-eight. He’s twenty-eight and his body is so broken that Wedge can’t imagine a future, even as everyone has promised him he can have one.

“It’ll take you a little while to acclimatise,” the doctor says, ignorant of Wedge’s strife. “And that’ll be uncomfortable. Nothing to be concerned about. Within a week you shouldn’t have any problems sitting up and doing a four-to-six hour stretch in the chair. And your leg is healing up nicely; we’ll be looking to remove the cast in the next fortnight or so, I think.”

That’s all well and good, but right now… Wedge isn’t sure about any of it.

All he can do is smile and nod. “Thank you,” he says, desperately hoping that Jahon might read his ever worsening mood and get this doctor out of here.

Jahon, a bloody miracle if ever Wedge saw one, does so. “I’m going to go and get Luke back in, okay?” he says, as he shoos the doctor. Eirtaé will deal with him.

Wedge sits in the chair and tries to breathe. Tries to calm down. Tries to not feel like every piece of his body is falling apart. Because that’s how he feels right now. Like he could disintegrate at any moment. It’s taking all his focus to keep himself together, keep his frustration in check.

Luke wanders towards him, a gentle smile on his face. His hair seems to have carried some of the golden sunshine inside with it. He’s radiant, shining out like pure light, and Wedge is… not.

“Hey.” Luke leans over to grip one of Wedge’s hands. “You alright?”

Usually, Luke’s concern soothes Wedge. Today, it sparks something deep inside of him, frustration that’s been brewing since he learnt how bad his injuries were. “No,” he says, his voice wobbling with thinly suppressed anger. “No, I’m not kriffing alright.”

Luke softens, rubbing his thumb over the back of Wedge’s hand and smiling wide. There were days during the Rebellion – and even long after that – when Wedge would have given anything to have Luke look at him like that. Now it just seems mocking. “Yeah. Guessed not. This is rough, hey? But you’ll be out and about again soon enough, and that’s a start, and you’ll be walking before you know it.”

Wedge knows that Luke’s trying to help. Usually, what he’s doing _works_. But even unbidden, the anger rises up in his chest, bringing a heat to his face. “Kriff off!” The words explode out his mouth before he can swallow them back down. He tears his hand out of Luke’s, bringing it in close to him. Across the room, Jahon looks up, startled. But he makes no move to intercede. This is personal. Private. “Fuck it, Luke, this isn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows. You don’t get to tell me it’s all going to be alright, not when you know it might not be. Let's face it, does anyone even know if I’m going to walk straight again?”

Wedge offers this question to the entire room, voice raised; no one dignifies it with an answer. It’s a valid concern, he thinks. Everyone’s seemed remarkably quiet on how much of a recovery Wedge will make.

“Wedge—” Luke reaches out a hand, eyes wide.

Wedge lashes out, batting it away with more ferocity than he intended. Luke pulls back, clutching his hand to his chest, rubbing at his wrist.

“Kriffing hell! I don’t want your empty platitudes Luke. This isn’t some fucking problem you can fix with words, or the Force, or any of your magic tricks!” Luke flinches. He’s suspecting that Wedge bears some lingering resentment over that fact that Luke chose the Force over flying, no matter how much he understands the decision. And yet, for all that Luke has given up to learn how to control his powers. Wedge is right. There’s nothing he can do to fix this. “If that’s all you’ve got to offer, you can fuck off right now. I’ve done this before, on my own. Won’t be too different this time. So kriff off. You don’t know what it’s like.”

Luke takes another step back. Wedge watches as he takes a deep breath. Contemplating what he can say, Wedge suspects. After a moment of concentration, he turns and walks out without a word.

Wedge’s own breath is coming in ragged pants. He feels dizzy. Can’t get enough air into his lungs. Fuck. What’s he done? He reaches a hand up to his face and feels hot wet tears spilling down his cheeks.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He sinks his head into his hands, tears giving way to full-blown sobs.

.

Luke sits on the steps outside the house, the ones that lead out towards the open-fields that bracket the house along the one side. It’s the opposite end of the house to Wedge. He’d found himself there without really thinking it through, just knowing that he needed to get out of that room before things got any worse.

He’d not expected Wedge’s outburst, but, in hindsight, he should have. Wedge has always had a temper, though it’s fiendishly difficult to rouse. But when it is – and Luke’s been witness to it a handful of times, though it’s never been directed at him – it’s fierce and sharp and cold and absolutely devastating.

“You know he didn’t really mean a word of that, right?”

Somehow, Jahon has crept out the house and is now casually leaning against a pillar. His expression is stern, but there’s a softness to it as well.

“Wedge?” Luke asks, just to clarify.

“Yes, Wedge.” Jahon huffs with frustration.

“I know.”

Or rather, Luke knows what Jahon means. Because there was a truth to Wedge’s words that can’t be avoided. He’s right to be frustrated with how slow this is, with how much pain he’s continually in, the fact that no one yet knows how full a recovery he might really make.

And yet, Luke understands that Wedge was lashing out in frustration, and the words he’d chosen were just the first thing that came to mind. That he’s being defensive, and attempting to take control of one of the few things he thinks he can.

“Look, when I signed on for this job, I didn’t expect any of this. And I don’t mind, so much, the fact that it’s become a solitary care case. But kriffing hell I did not sign up to be a relationship counsellor. And I refuse to become one. But the man who I’m fairly certain you love is crying his eyes out because he’s scared to death he’s driven you away, so can you please go and tell him that you still love him? And if you don’t, fucking tell him that and get it over with instead of drawing it out and leading him on. Or I’ll kick your ass.”

Luke raises an eyebrow. Jahon’s got his arms folded and he looks tough, but… Luke is a Jedi. There aren’t many people he can’t take in a fight these days. But there’s something hopelessly endearing about Jahon even threatening him about it. “If I break his heart, you’ll probably have to get in line.”

Jahon grins. “Good. Just, I’m guessing that most of those people are half a galaxy away. Just wanted you to know that I’m here and that I’d do it.”

Luke raises both his eyebrows. But Jahon has already vanished – and someday when Luke founds that school for fledgling Jedi that he means to, he’ll have to come back to Naboo for lessons as to how everyone here seems to be able to slip into the shadows on a whim when they want to. Not that is the focus right now.

Wedge – Wedge is the reason that Luke’s here. And right now, he’s miserable, because of this misunderstanding between them. So Luke stands up, brushes himself off, and heads back into the house.

There’s a sadness that permeates the corridors. It creeps up on Luke, and then overwhelms him, filling his chest up and threatening to drown him under the weight. He quickens his steps. If Wedge is upset enough to have put out this much emotion, for it to be this strong… kriffing hells, Luke fucked up.

He pauses, at the door. He wants to run in, to sweep Wedge up in his arms and shower him with affection, but he’s not sure that’s the right move. Just hours earlier he’d completely misread Wedge’s mood. Wedge’s reaction hadn’t been completely unprovoked, Luke had hardly helped there. And… Luke can’t help but think that there might be a deep misunderstanding between them, with both of them uncertain where they stand with each other. He’s avoided clarifying what on earth is going on between him and Wedge, for fear that it might be unwelcome, or unwanted, or cause them unnecessary complications.

Now… it’s led them here. It’s causing more damage to leave things unspoken. Time to summon up a bit of courage, and find some words to try and tell Wedge just enough of how he feels.

He pushes the door open, and steps into Wedge’s room. “Wedge?” he asks, looking round.

He finds Wedge not in the bed, or in the hoverchair, but sat on the sofa that Luke has largely commandeered as his own. One of Luke’s blankets has been thrown over his legs, and he’s clutching at Kettch for dear life, cuddled up against a cushion. His face is white, and his eyes are ringed with red. Jahon’s right; he’s been crying. “Luke?” he asks, voice thin. More evidence that Jahon wasn’t exaggerating.

Luke steps closer. He’s being cautious; he wants to be entirely sure that Wedge wants him here. He bites back any of the meaningless words that form on his lips, like ‘hey’ and ‘are you alright?’. This isn’t the time for them.

“I’m sorry,” Wedge says. “Luke, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It wasn’t fair. I just—” His voice breaks and he balls one of his hands into a fist and scrubs at his eyes.

“Wedge—” Luke can’t stand this. “No. I was being an idiot. You had a point.” He smiles, hoping that Wedge is looking, or, if he isn’t, that Wedge can hear it in his tone. “I don’t know what it’s like. You’re right to say that your recovery is going to be kriffing awful. It’s going to be shit. But I don’t care how tough it is. I’m not quitting on you. I’m going to stay here, by your side, for as long as you want me, and do my level best to support you through this as best as I can. That is, if you want me here in the first place.”

Wedge’s expression slowly gives way into shock. He blinks, in quick succession, trying to take Luke in. “Of course I want you here,” he says. The words all spill out in a rush. “Of course I bloody want you. I’ve always— haven’t you been paying a scrap of attention?”

“I’ve been called an oblivious idiot before.” Luke tries to school his face into seriousness; he’d come in with serious intentions. But his joy is infectious, spreading over his face in an affectionate grin. He looks for somewhere to sit – there isn’t room on the sofa, and he doesn’t want to drag a chair over. So he drops to his knees in front of Wedge.

“Luke—” There’s a small smile on Wedge’s face. “I want you here. There are days I can barely believe that you are here. Let alone that you’re taking such fine care of me, or…” A blush colours Wedge’s face, and he darts his eyes away.

Luke reaches up to cup Wedge’s cheek, thumb brushing over Wedge’s cheekbone. His fingers fondle Wedge’s jaw. He leans in, bringing his face within an inch of Wedge’s. “What, love?”

“That,” Wedge responds. He turns his head back to Luke, and their noses collide. Wedge gives a quiet gasp in surprise. “Luke, you know exactly what you’re bloody doing. Playing a tease. Giving me all this affection. Even though we’re not…”

Luke seals his lips over Wedge’s, drawing him in with a delicate hand placed on the back of his neck.

“Not what?”

Luke’s fingers play with the edge of Wedge’s hair, tangling in the short strands. It’s longer than it sometimes is – he probably needs a haircut. His question is sincere, not wanting any misunderstandings to lie between them.

“Together,” Wedge says, voice laced with frustration, even as he plays with the collar of Luke’s shirt. He’s still so close and it’s difficult to know which of them makes the move but they’re kissing again, soft and gentle.

“Really?” Luke asks, as he draws back. Wedge’s entire face is flushed a pretty pink, his lips a deep red. “Have we ever been… ‘together’?” He emphasises the word, wondering where this hang up of Wedge’s has come from. “Our relationship has hardly been a conventional one. It didn’t stop us before.”

“Before, you weren’t a Jedi, and there was a bloody war on. Things were different then.”

Luke quirks an eyebrow. “And Endor?”

Wedge pushes at Luke’s shoulder. Unlike earlier, this time it’s in jest. “Endor doesn’t count, and you know it.”

“Really? Because I seem to remember us getting up to plenty.” Wedge’s cheeks are scarlet now, which Luke finds endlessly endearing. “And I liked what we got up to, if I never made that clear.” Luke wonders if he didn’t. Because it seems like Wedge thinks that none of what has happened between them has ever meant anything.

Wedge is quiet. Luke rubs a thumb against his jaw. “Yeah,” Wedge says, with a quick nod. “I think you said something to that effect. I just never thought that it meant anything…”

His words are quiet, nervous, and are all the confirmation Luke needs. Even with all the history between them, what they’ve got here is so different from anything they’ve pursued before. Both of them can tell that it’s more serious, even if they aren’t conveying that to the other. So Luke knows he’s got to put some of his feelings into words. “Wedge. It meant something. Trust me. I care about you, and I have for a long time. As a friend, yes, first and foremost, but as a hell of a lot more than that too.”

Wedge gives Luke’s shirt a desperate tug, pulling Luke towards him. Their mouths collide in a messy kiss, a hasty, fierce thing, where Wedge’s hands are scrambling for purchase on Luke’s skin. Luke goes with it, holding Wedge tight, deepening and slowing the kiss, winding a hand into Wedge’s fine hair. Through the Force, he tries to push some of what he feels across to Wedge, the intense affection he holds for him. Wedge calms. The kiss turns slow and languid, endlessly soft, until they break away, both breathing heavily.

“Luke—” Wedge plays with the ends of Luke’s hair, brushing it back over Luke’s ears. He’s searching for words. “Me too. Always.”

Luke smiles. Good. And maybe that’s not everything he wants to say said, but it’s a good enough start. He shifts on his knees, the position uncomfortable.

“Get up here,” Wedge says, gesturing at the sofa. “Hold me. For the record, that chair’s a bloody nightmare and my back really hurts, and your hands are magic, so…”

Luke laughs, standing up. “Oh, I see how it is. I confess my devotion and you turn me into your slave.” A closer look at the sofa reveals that he could probably slip in beside Wedge, especially if he lifts Wedge up a little and pulls him into his lap.

“Excuse me, who’s the one recovering from life-threatening, debilitating injuries?” Wedge gives a pout, but it quickly gives way to a smile.

“You, love.” Luke slides onto the sofa, careful to negotiate around Wedge. He drops a kiss into Wedge’s hair, as he circles his arms round him. Wedge, content, leans back into Luke, his head coming to rest on Luke’s shoulder. “Okay, where does it hurt the most? Might as well put these magic hands to good use.”

.

It might not be the sunrise, but even at midday the view out across the lake is spectacular. Not that Luke is paying much attention to that. His sights are set squarely on the man beside him.

It’s taken a couple of days of fighting with the chair, of Luke and Jahon doing their best to navigate around the fragile edges of Wedge’s temper, but they finally seem to have made a break through. Wedge can now navigate himself in and out of the damn thing, and is happy to sit in it for an hour or so at least.

And according to Jahon, as Wedge becomes more and more accustomed to the chair, he’ll be able to spend longer and longer in it. Eventually, an entire day. Which means Luke can finally take him places, show Wedge some of the pieces of Naboo he’s caught glimpses of while he’s been here, instead of looking at them and feeling guilty that he’s left Wedge behind.

For now, the balcony will do.

“It’s good to feel fresh air again,” Wedge says. There’s a smile on his face. Being outside has cheered him immeasurably.

“It’s good to see you out here,” Luke replies. He picks at the sharing plate they’ve got for lunch, all Naboo finger foods. It’s good stuff. “It’s a view and a half, and I know they set the bed up so you could see it, but it’s not the same. And beyond, out into the fields, and the mountains… when you’re back on your feet again, I’ll show you it. It’s incredible.”

Wedge’s chair isn’t up for navigating such terrain, so that’ll be a way off. But it’s a promise, and Luke intends to keep it. “I look forward to it.” Wedge’s smile is bashful, almost disbelieving, but since things came to a head a couple of days ago, Wedge is trying to do better in keeping faith that Luke means his promises honestly, and Luke is trying to get better at voicing them.

It’s a start. There’s still a lot left unsaid, but they’ve got years of it to get through. And, unlike in the war, where it didn’t get said out of fear… here, Luke knows that they’re going to have time to go through it all, in their own time, as they need to.

“And what’s on the schedule this afternoon?” Luke broadly knows, Jahon’s mentioned some of it, but he wants to hear it from Wedge.

Wedge sighs. “X-rays of my bloody leg.” He gripes, patting at the one that’s still done up in a heavy cast. “They want to see if it’s healing okay. If it’s going well, they might take the cast off – though I think they’re almost certain to replace it with something. If it’s going badly, then… I guess it’s another round of surgery.”

Wedge looks despondent at the thought, which is only right, given the amount he had to have in the first place.

“I really hope it doesn’t come to that,” Luke says. “But if it does… I’ll be here for you, okay, love.”

Wedge smiles again, his eyes creasing upwards in the corners. “I hope so too, but that’s good to know.” He looks over what’s left of the food. “Luke, can you pass me some of the jei-la?”

Luke picks up one of the pieces of the sweet, dense bread, coated in a jam made of local fruit. He thinks Wedge just intended for Luke to pass him the plate, but this works too. He leans over, bringing the jei-la up to Wedge’s mouth.

Wedge quirks an eyebrow, but bites down anyway. “You don’t have to feed me you know,” he says.

“I know.” Luke grins. “But is there any harm in me doing it?”

Wedge rolls his eyes. “No, of course not.” Wedge takes the last of the jei-la from Luke, then, in a moment of daring, his tongue flicks out and licks a trace of the sticky sweet jam from Luke’s fingertips.

Luke freezes in surprise. Wedge’s eyes are dark, and he’s looking up at Luke through dark lashes. His smile is mischievous.

Wedge knows exactly what he’s playing at. “Now who’s the tease?” Luke asks.

“Just getting my own back.”

Wedge’s smirk is a sight to behold. Luke laughs. “Yeah, that’s fair enough.” He kisses the tip of Wedge’s nose, which makes Wedge giggle, and then Luke kisses him properly. Or as properly as he can, given that they’re both smiling, which is hardly conducive to a good kiss.

Not that Luke cares. The affection is there clear enough, and that’s all he wants.

“What about you?” Wedge asks, after they’ve finished eating – which took slightly longer than it should, because they kept getting distracted with each other. “You got any plans for this afternoon?”

“Eh.” Luke stretches his arms out above his head. “I’m expecting a call from Leia, with a host of updates. If that doesn’t eat up my entire afternoon, I’ve got some work in the palace library – I asked Eirtaé a while back if she had anything on the invasion of Naboo and she’s unearthed a bunch of records from my mother’s administration. So I was going to look at those. Obi Wan fought a Sith here, named Maul, apparently?”

“Maul?” Wedge scratches his head. “That sounds familiar for goodness knows what reason.”

Luke looks at him. “School? Did you ever do the invasion of Naboo?”

“Not that I can recall. And I don’t think it was like that, it wasn’t a historic reference… it felt current.” Wedge scrubs his hand at his forehead. “I wanna say it was with my time with Phoenix Squadron. Plenty of weird stuff went on there that I didn’t know about.”

“I’m starting to think I should put Phoenix Squadron on my list of things to investigate,” Luke says. “Well, I’ll see what I find out, anyway. After that, Eirtaé’s given us this new holo drama to watch – _Substance and Stardust._ It’s some modern adaptation of a well loved Naboo book, I think.”

“Sounds fun enough.” Wedge shrugs. “Good luck with Leia. And give her my love.”

“I will.” Luke stands up. “I’d best be off, actually. You take care of yourself.” He steps in front of Wedge, reaching for one of Wedge’s hands. With his other, he pushes Wedge’s hair back, and places a soft kiss to his forehead.

“You too,” Wedge says, his eyes dark and soft and looking up at Luke reverentially. He leans his head up, in an inviting manner.

Luke is still getting used to the fact that he and Wedge have established enough between them that he can kiss Wedge whenever he wants, that he’s allowed to do it, invited and wanted. He tilts his head and leans in to kiss Wedge, warmly, and full of affection.

“I’ll be back soon love.”

.

Wedge’s leg is healing up quite nicely.

So it’s off with the cast. It’s replaced by a long brace, intended to keep Wedge’s leg straight and supported, and Jahon’s instructions are that he is to wear it, at all times. “None of this malarkey like you’ve been doing with the back brace,” Jahon says, giving Luke a knowing look. “This one stays on.”

Apart from one notable exception: washing.

Because Jahon reveals that Wedge has healed to the point where he can actually have a proper water wash, instead of relying on the hand-held sonic that does the job but just isn’t the same. They’re on Naboo for goodness sake, water is plentiful.

Wedge is ecstatic when he hears the news.

He’s less convinced when he discovers that it’s still going to be a right faff. Slip-proof mats on the floor, getting in and out the chair; he’s still going to have to mind his legs and his hips and it’ll probably be uncomfortable.

“Give it a month,” Jahon chirps, with a smile. “And then you’ll actually be able to sit in one of the tubs and soak. Good for the soul, that is. Until then… well, you’ll make do.”

One more thing: Wedge is definitely not well enough to be left in a room full of water on his own. The chance of him slipping and injuring himself is too high. So, he has to have a buddy.

Luke is quite content to stay out of this, recognising that it’s a vulnerable moment for Wedge. He’s made no secret of not wanting Luke to see his scars, the bruises on his body, and Luke has no interest in pushing him if he’s not ready.

Jahon has other ideas. “I think Luke’s got this one, honestly. I’ll be on my commlink if you need me, just buzz. Or yell. That’ll probably work.” Then he’s off, leaving Wedge and Luke to navigate their way through this on their own.

“I can go and get him back here if you want.” Luke looks at Wedge, who’s sitting a little uncomfortably in his hover chair. “I don’t mind if you aren’t comfortable with me doing this with you, not yet.”

“No.” Wedge’s voice is quiet, but firm. “No, Luke, it’s fine. Hey, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before right?”

Luke can see enough in the sparkle in Wedge’s eyes to know that he’s not talking about the bruising, or the damage done in the accident. “Heh. No, it’s not. And that would be true even without our shared history – communal refreshers, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Wedge sweeps his eyes around the room. “Nothing like this, though.”

The refresher that’s attached to Wedge’s quarters is enough to inspire awe. Luke had thought the one attached to his bedroom was fancy. It pales in comparison to this. This is pure luxury, absolutely overdone. Half of it is done up as effectively a wet room, with multiple shower heads on the ceiling to form a cascade of water should one wish. A recessed section is meant to be filled as a tub, and is, Luke is pleased to note, easily large enough for two people to sit in. Later, they’ll get some use out of that.

Jahon’s already been in and marked out an area for Wedge. A non slip mat on the floor. A small wooden flat stool, intended to support Wedge’s legs, is beside it. A bowl to be filled with water to help. A basket of toiletries. All set up near the tap station, where a hand held shower head is ready.

It’ll do quite nicely, Luke thinks.

“I don't think there would be room for all this on a spaceship,” he says. “Though I’m sure the Mon Calamari would have tried.”

Wedge quirks a smile at that one. Good. Luke wants him to be at ease. “Admiral Ackbar would be jealous if he saw all this.”

He looks at Luke and for a moment, they both imagine Ackbar in the room. Neither of them lasts long before cracking up into giggles.

“Okay. Let's get on with it.” Luke surveys everything, then turns back to Wedge. “Clothes, off. How much help do you need?”

“A fair bit,” Wedge admits. He’s shrugged his arms out of his cardigan, and is attempting to pull it round the back of him. Luke leans over and pulls it clear. He folds it neatly, placing it on a bench, safely out the way. “I can get my shirt off myself technically, but it’s easier if you help.”

“Of course.” Luke finds the hem of the shirt, and easily pulls it over Wedge’s head. He folds that too, setting it with the cardigan.

He turns back, and he can’t keep his eyes sweeping across Wedge’s chest, and then down. The scars from the fixators are still there. Healing, but still a raw pink, not yet faded to white. And Wedge’s hips are still bruised, a pale sickly yellow – that’s a good thing, though, it means they’re healing. There’s a purple bruise at the top of his hip, though, which is fresh.

“I keep knocking myself with the chair,” Wedge says, catching Luke’s gaze. “And I bruise pretty easily these days.”

A simple enough explanation. Luke reaches out, brushing over the surface of damaged skin. He goes slowly, watching Wedge’s face for any discomfort. He lifts his hand, gently exploring. “What’s this?” Luke’s hand brushes over a thin white scar just below Wedge’s ribs. It’s old enough that it wasn’t damage from the accident.

“Got attacked on a mission… almost a year ago?” Wedge seems uncertain. “Wes shot them. And it was clean, so no real harm done. Worst thing is bruised the rib, too, and it’s one of the ones I cracked on Akiva.”

“Wedge…” Luke looks up at the man he loves.

“What happened on Akiva wasn’t your fault.” Wedge reaches for Luke’s hand. “It was the stupid war, and the stupid Empire, and I survived it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now how about some fair play? If you’re going to help me with this, you’re going to get soaked if you stay clothed.” Wedge’s smile turns a little cheeky.

“You have a point,” Luke says. “But don’t think I don’t see your intentions there, Wedge.”

He strips off his outer tunic, and then his undershirt. They join the ever-growing pile of clothes on the bench. That makes them equal. Then, just because they might as well get this over with, Luke unfastens his trousers, and pulls them off too. Simple, clean, efficient. No point in making a show out of it – they’ve done that bit before, no need for it now.

Wedge’s trousers take a little bit more manoeuvring to get off, but Luke manages that too. “Now, let’s get you over there. This probably won’t be dignified, but it’s easiest if I carry you somehow.”

Wedge nods. “It’s not going to be comfortable whatever you do, Luke.”

“So—” Luke quickly assesses. “Put your arm around my neck, and lean into me.” Luke kneels slightly, bringing himself to a height where Wedge can do that. One of Luke’s arms goes around Wedge’s shoulders, supporting his back, the other, under Wedge’s knees. Once Luke can feel Wedge starting to push his weight into Luke, he lifts Wedge up into a bridal carry.

“This is not how I’d imagined this was going to go,” Wedge says.

“You’ve imagined this? The shower or me carrying you?”

“Would I be a fool if I said both?” Wedge laughs, vibrating against Luke’s side. It’s a pleasant feeling. “I’ve had a lot of spare time on my hands recently, you’ve got to give me the simple pleasure of imagining things.”

“I’d never dream of taking it away.”

Luke kneels, placing Wedge gently down onto the mat. He pulls the stool into place, then rests Wedge’s legs on top of it, keeping them at an optimal angle. Working quickly, he flicks open the closures on Wedge’s leg brace and peels it off, placing it out the way.

Luke looks at Wedge. He’s propped himself up on his elbows, but even that can’t change the fact that he’s lying, almost naked, incredibly vulnerable all laid out in front of Luke like that. And Luke’s about to make him more vulnerable. “Okay, Antilles, pants.”

Wedge raises his eyebrows. “Which you’re going to have to help me with, Skywalker.”

Luke ducks his head, fighting a slight blush on his cheeks. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Really?” He runs his hands across Wedge’s midriff, skirting the edges of his underwear.

“Luke, look at me,” Wedge says. Luke looks up. Wedge’s eyes are burning with a fierce affection. “Look, yeah, you’re right, this is awkward. It was going to be awkward regardless. But I trust you. Also, this is not comfortable, and Jahon was right when he said that it was going to hurt fairly quickly, so I’d rather just get on with it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. That makes sense.”

“Luke, how is it that I’m more calm about this than you are?” Wedge asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Come here.” Luke leans in, and Wedge meets him in a soft, reassuring kiss. “Now get on with it.”

Luke gives an affectionate laugh, eyes crinkling into a smile. “Whatever you say, love.”

He removes Wedge’s underwear in a straightforward, perfunctory manner, deciding that dwelling on it anymore than he already has is unnecessary. He reaches over for the shower-head, turning the water on. After a moment of waiting for it to warm up, he checks it. It’s fine. Nice and pleasant, but not scalding.

He brings it over, sending a flood of water over Wedge’s skin. For a minute, he just lets Wedge luxuriate in the feel of water flowing over him again. Luke remembers the first time he had a water shower well enough, on Yavin. He’d been mystified by the concept, almost horrified, but after Han had pushed him into the thing and turned it on, he’d been delighted with the entire process.

Once Wedge is thoroughly doused, and Luke is damp enough himself from the spray of the water, Luke holds the shower-head over the bowl, filling it with water, and then places it aside. Wedge reaches for it, lifting it up so the warm water flowing from it is still coming over him.

Luke shakes his head, laughing as he reaches for some soap and a sponge. “I think you’re going native on me,” he says, lathering up the sponge. “Becoming a real water baby.”

“Oh no, I don’t need to go native, Corellians tend to like water too—” Wedge protests, before giving way to giggles as Luke scrubs the sponge over Wedge’s ribs, where he knows Wedge is ticklish. “That’s not playing fair, Luke.” He lifts the shower-head, aiming the water spray at Luke.

Luke promptly goes from slightly damp to dripping wet. “Neither was that.” He pushes his now-damp hair out of his face. “Now look at me. I’m soaked. Thanks.” And he’d still been wearing his underwear, hoping to preserve some of his modesty, though that’s gone now because they’ve gone practically see-through and rather clingy. Though, as they’ve said – it’s nothing Wedge hasn’t seen before.

“We’re equal now.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Luke moves closer, propping himself up on his elbow as he lies by Wedge’s side. He goes back to what he was doing, helping to wash Wedge, but he’s more gentle now, slowly sweeping soap suds and water over every part of Wedge’s skin he can reach. There’s something fiercely intimate in doing this, and when he looks up, he finds Wedge staring at him, eyes half-lidded and dark.

For a moment, Luke gets lost in the intensity of Wedge’s gaze. It pulls him in, drawing him closer, until their noses brush and Luke is tilting his head so he can kiss Wedge. The kiss is open-mouthed and deep, and Luke lifts his hand to thread it through Wedge’s wet hair.

This is – they’ve never done anything like this, before, and Luke is heady with the rush of it all, in losing himself in Wedge, in slick skin pressing against each other. One of Wedge’s hands is slowly stroking its way across Luke’s chest, across hard planes of muscle.

Then it stops, Wedge slowly focusing on one patch. Luke glances down, wondering what’s stopped him. “When did you get this?” Wedge asks, fingers stopped across one of Luke’s scars.

Luke tries to remember. “Dagobah, I think?” It wasn’t anything major.

“You think?” Wedge’s face turns to concern. “Have you been taking so little care of yourself that you didn't notice…?”

“No, it’s not like that.” Luke grabs for Wedge’s hand, taking it in his. “I’ve just had a lot on. Everything with my training and then Bespin and then Endor… it all happened so fast. I lost track at one point.”

Luke presses a kiss to Wedge’s forehead, trying to soothe away the other man’s concerns. He reaches for the shower head, taking it from Wedge, and uses it to clean the soap suds away from Wedge. Then he brings it up, holding it over Wedge’s head and drenching his hair.

“Sit up a bit, okay?” Luke asks, reaching for a bottle of shampoo. He puts a hand on Wedge’s back to stabilise him. He can still feel the bony ridges of Wedge’s spine, all too prominent for his liking.

He uses the force to open the shampoo bottle and squeeze a small amount into his palm. He then rubs it into Wedge’s hair, lathering it up. Wedge makes a pleased little hum, and Luke intentionally lets his nails scrape across Wedge’s scalp, which elicits a deeper guttural sound from Wedge.

“One more thing you like?” Luke says, laughing softly.

“Come off it Luke, I know you’re not immune to having your hair played with,” Wedge replies.

That’s true enough, so Luke doesn’t argue. He washes the shampoo out of Wedge’s hair slowly and carefully, making sure he does it thoroughly. When he’s done, Wedge’s hair is dripping in his face, and Luke pushes it back gently, slicking it back from Wedge’s face.

Wedge suddenly grimaces. Luke recognises it well enough – his back’s spasming, shooting pain through his system. “Your back?” he asks, just checking. Wedge nods through a grimace. “We’re not quite done, I’m afraid, but I’ll be as quick as possible, and then we can move you.”

“Okay.” Wedge’s voice is uncertain, and Luke knows that he really does need to be quick. He grabs for the sponge again, running it along Wedge’s back, his legs, his feet, anywhere that Luke couldn’t reach earlier.

It’s easy enough with a lathered up sponge and a shower-head for this not to feel too involved if Luke doesn’t want it to be, which Luke is eternally grateful for as he moves quickly over the intimate parts of Wedge’s anatomy. It's silly to be embarrassed about it, given their past, but Luke still doesn’t quite know where the boundaries are – and this feels astonishingly close to crossing them.

(Which is silly in of itself, because there are other things Luke has done – the massage springs to mind – that have conjured up the feeling of sex, and intimacy, far more than this; which is strictly essential and not erotic in the slightest.)

Once he’s done, and Wedge is rinsed off, Luke turns off the water. He stands up and walks to fetch a stack of fluffy opulent towels. He grabs one and dries himself off roughly, so he’s not dripping, and then grabs another, taking it back over to Wedge.

He dumps it over Wedge’s head, towelling his hair so it’s not dripping, and then pulls it down around Wedge’s shoulders. Then he kneels, hooking an arm under Wedge’s legs and another round his back; Wedge responds by wrapping his arms around Luke’s shoulders and leaning into him.

Luke lifts Wedge up, once again into a bridal carry. Wedge rests his head against Luke’s shoulder, folding it into the crook of Luke’s neck. He seems vulnerable, more so than he did earlier, leaning into Luke for support.

He’s tired, Luke realises.

It’s a sign of how long Wedge still has to go in his recovery. His injuries are healing, but the simplest every day tasks still have the potential to exhaust him.

Luke turns his head and brushes a kiss to Wedge’s hair. “Shall we forego the chair and just get you straight into bed?”

“Yeah,” Wedge mutters into Luke’s neck. He tightens his grip, unwilling to let go of Luke.

If he wants to be carried, Luke has no objections. Luke can appreciate the niceness of the closeness it provides, in the weight of Wedge’s body against his and the amount of skin-on-skin contact it affords them. And it’s easy enough to keep Wedge close as Luke carries him out of the refresher, and back to his bedroom.

Someone’s been in whilst they’ve been busy, and changed the sheets on the bed, tidied up a bit. Luke doesn’t pay much attention, just lays Wedge down on the bed, on top of the duvet. “Give me a moment, love,” Luke says.

He leaves Wedge there, to go and get another towel, some dry clothes for the pair of them, and Wedge’s leg and back brace which are going to have to go back on. He takes a second to strip off his wet underpants, and replace them, but then gets back to Wedge.

Wedge, in Luke’s absence, has propped himself up on his elbows, and is attempting to use the towel he has to dry himself off more. “Oi, stop that,” Luke says, dumping everything inelegantly on the bed. He grabs a chair and sits beside Wedge, grabbing the dry towel, and moving to dry Wedge off. “You don’t need to do that yourself. Let me help.”

Wedge looks suitably chagrin about the affair. He lets Luke rub him dry, slowly and carefully, Luke giving the proceedings his full attention. When Luke is satisfied that he’s dry, he reaches for a fresh pair of pants, sliding them onto Wedge’s legs.

“How is it that we never had shower sex?” Wedge asks, at the most inopportune moment, when Luke’s hands are hovering perilously close to Wedge’s cock. “Because I feel we missed an opportunity there. Here I am, pretty much naked, you the same, and I’m too injured to do anything about it.”

“I think the fact that we were fighting a war in some fairly inhospitable places might explain that,” Luke says. There are other reasons, but they aren’t important now. “We can put it on the list of things to do when you’re better if you’re so fussed.” He leans down and presses a kiss to Wedge’s hip, and then another further down, close to a thatch of dark hair. It’s intimate and close, and Luke has to work hard to keep the want contained inside of him.

Luke looks up at Wedge, who’s peering down at him. “You’re such a tease, Luke,” Wedge says, shaking his head lightly.

Luke pulls Wedge’s pants all the way up, removing any temptation he might have, and moves so that he’s facing Wedge. “I promise you that I’ll make good on that promise one day,” Luke says, before kissing Wedge. It’s a good kiss; Luke tries to put all the promise of intimacy into it, sucking at Wedge’s bottom lip, running his tongue across the roof of Wedge’s mouth. Kissing is something they can do, and Luke enjoys it, the closeness of it.

It’s a revelation to be able to take his time kissing Wedge. He never has before.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Wedge says, breathless. “Especially if you’re going to kiss me like that.”

Luke grins.

“Always.” He leans over Wedge, reaching for one of the items of clothing he deposited earlier. “Now, come on, let's get you dressed and get at least the leg brace back on, or Jahon will have my head.”

.

One of the first steps in Wedge’s recovery was getting Wedge into the chair and comfortable enough to move about Varykino and its grounds. They’ve managed that quite successfully, despite the earlier difficulties. Wedge can now manage extended periods of time in the chair if he has to, so he spends parts of his days in the library with Luke, or out in the grounds watching Luke go through exercise sequences, practising with his lightsaber.

The next step is getting Wedge out of Varykino, and out into the wider world.

Unsurprisingly, Wedge isn’t particularly keen on the idea.

“It’ll do you some good, to get out and about,” Luke says, slumping into a chair next to Wedge. He’s been hard at work, practising a new set of lightsaber katas he’s found, and his hair is damp and tousled. He’s also stripped down to just a vest, which Wedge thinks is criminally unfair. How’s he supposed to mount a decent argument when Luke is in front of him like this?

Wedge is willing to believe that Luke might have done this intentionally.

“I’m still not sure I’m comfortable with it,” Wedge replies. “In amongst everyone? It just seems like there’s a lot of potential for something to go wrong.”

“I’ll be with you all the time.” Luke leans over to place his hands on Wedge’s knees, and stares into Wedge’s eyes. “You don’t think I’d let anything happen to you?”

Wedge crumbles. When Luke puts it like that… “No, of course I don’t.”

“Then you can come with me. It’ll only be a couple of hours or so, and it’s not like we’ll go to Theed or anywhere big. Just the local village. It’s nice there. Quiet enough – the locals are a private sort, really.” Luke smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “You can’t keep hiding here. You’re doing so much better, Wedge. There isn’t anything to be scared of.”

Wedge knew that someday, Luke knowing his every weakness would come back to haunt him. And whilst Wedge has always possessed a modicum of sense above and beyond your average X-Wing jockey, he’s not invulnerable to being needled into daredevil stunts. He takes insult to the idea that he’s in someway scared of this.

“Okay, fine.” Luke grins in response. “When were you thinking of going?”

“This afternoon?” Luke offers, and Wedge sighs. Of course. That doesn’t give him any time to reconsider or back out from this. “We can have lunch, you can have a rest for a bit, and then we’ll pop out.”

Wedge decides that he’s just going to have to roll with it. So they follow Luke’s plans; lunch, a rest period where they sit curled up on the sofa together and watch _High Thrusters_ , and then Luke helps Wedge pick out the nicest jumper in his comfortable recovery wardrobe. When Luke pops along to the village, he usually walks – it’s only fifteen minutes or so – but Jahon had stepped in and said that taking a transport car would be for the best. It does make the pop across to the village much shorter, even though getting Wedge and the chair in and out of the car is a bit of a faff.

Wedge insists on doing everything by himself, too. Getting out and adjusting himself into the chair, rejecting Luke’s assistance.

Luke tries not to take it personally. He can tell that Wedge is nervous about all this. It’s his first time out in public since the accident – he’s seen a lot of people since it happened but they’ve all been friends or colleagues or medical professionals. This is different. So Luke tries to smile and take it all in his stride.

Wedge looks around the village with trepidation. Luke’s right. It’s ordinary enough. There are a couple of people about, but they aren’t paying much attention to him and Luke, or Wedge’s struggle with the chair.

Wedge knows his insecurities are mostly unfounded. Aside from the chair, most of the visible signs of his injury have now gone. He no longer looks like a man who came close to death. But… it’s not just about the injuries. It's about the fact that Luke is here, and helping him through it, and although Wedge knows that it’s perfectly acceptable to have Luke, his friend and former-commander and sometimes lover, helping him out – Luke is not just that.

Luke is the last Jedi, as far as anyone can tell, and that position has responsibilities, and Wedge can’t help but fear that if it got out to the wider public that this was how Luke Skywalker was spending his time, that Luke would have to leave. By public pressure or the New Republic Senate or Luke’s own sense of duty.

Wedge is sure that he and Luke will have to part again – their lives are fundamentally incompatible these days, he has few doubts about that – but he wants to hold on to Luke for as long as he can. He’s not ready for Luke to leave him yet.

“Come on,” Luke says, already a couple of steps ahead of Wedge. At least he isn’t hanging onto the back of Wedge’s chair, which he’s been known to do, a cautious and unnecessary presence. Wedge doesn’t need his help to use the chair, the thing is automated, and it makes Luke feel more like a carer and less like a friend if he’s back there. “We haven’t got too long and there's a whole bunch I want to show you!”

Here’s one of the things that Wedge loves about Luke, one of the first things he noticed: the boundless optimism and joy that radiates from him. It’s difficult not to get caught up in it, if you’re around him. For Wedge, who’d always had a tendency to get caught up in his own thoughts, tread along already worn paths of thought, Luke had been a balm in those early days.

Now that he’s a Jedi, Wedge sees this side of him less often. But it’s on full-display now, as Luke takes him through the village, remarking at the immaculately manicured gardens, and then to an open market place.

He introduces Wedge to everyone – a lot of the vendors seem to know Luke on sight, and actually know him, not just recognise him from holonet broadcasts. There’s Jaé Simms, who runs a bakery, and has a package of sweet chocolate pastries already wrapped up for Luke by the time they’ve reached her. There’s Kemel Kon, the fishmonger, and Naela his wife who sells jewellery and trinkets. They’re pretty enough, and Wedge finds himself wondering if Mirax would like such a thing.

(Not that he’s spoken to her, not in months. That’s not unusual, not for them, but he should call her at some point. Keep her updated.)

He doesn’t buy anything but Naela is kind and says that he’s welcome back at any time, if he wants to think on it. Which is kind of her. Everyone’s kind here, Wedge is finding, and he appreciates it.

They linger for a bit next to the fountain in the market square, Luke sharing his pastry gains with Wedge. It almost feels like a date. Which is a ridiculous feeling, because… well, Wedge can’t remember the last time he went on anything that even vaguely resembled a date. School, most likely. He hasn't had a whole lot of time for such things since.

“I just want to pick up some fresh fruit,” Luke says, as they’re preparing to go. “I promised Laverna I’d bring something back for dessert.”

Wedge can’t argue with that; he’ll no doubt appreciate whatever concoction Laverna whips up out of it. So he follows Luke over to the stall, watches as Luke asks for something specific and the stall-holder grumble and smile in a knowing manner, before disappearing to collect something from a truck.

“Local secret?” Wedge asks.

“Something like that.” Luke shrugs, with a lopsided smile, and if Wedge could he’d lean up and kiss the smile right off Luke’s face. But he can’t reach, and Luke’s attention is suddenly caught by a woman beside them, struggling with a baby and a basket of food. “Can I help you, Paeli?”

There’s a sigh of relief from the woman. “Oh, Master Luke, if you wouldn’t mind holding Hené for a moment, that would be wonderful.”

Paeli hands her baby over to Luke, who nestles the thing in the crook of his arm. Wedge looks on in astonishment. Luke’s offering a finger to the child, swinging it back and forth as the baby makes grabbing motions for it.

Luke’s smile is soft and affectionate as he looks at this baby, and Wedge feels his heart welling up. Then Luke looks up, catching Wedge staring. “Do you want to hold her?” he asks. “Paeli won’t mind I’m sure.”

Luke is already over and offering Wedge the baby before Wedge has had a chance to say anything in response. The only option seems to be to take her. So Wedge does, a little awkwardly, supporting her head in the crook of his elbow and wrapping his hands round her.

Her dark eyes peer up at him, curious. Wedge wonders if she’s going to cry. He thinks he would, if he was this young and his mother had left him even momentarily in the care of two strangers, one of whom is now holding her more awkwardly than she can ever have been held before. But she seems remarkably non-plussed by it all. One of her hands strains upwards, reaching for Wedge’s face.

“I think she likes you,” Luke says with a chuckle.

“Really?” Wedge breathes it out in astonishment, his focus solely on little Hené, who’s affixed one of her fists in Wedge’s jumper and is attempting to haul herself up based on that grasp. She’s not strong enough to succeed, but Wedge tilts his arms and brings her closer anyway.

Her little hand pokes at his jaw, exploring, and then she attempts to jam it into his mouth. “Hey, none of that,” Luke admonishes softly, as Wedge lifts his own hand to guide hers away.

She’s sweet, Wedge will have to give her that. Even if she hasn’t quite grasped societal politeness yet.

The trance Wedge is in is broken when the store holder comes back with a bag of things for Luke, and then deals with Paeli. Paeli packs her purchases into a bag, then turns to Luke and Wedge to retrieve her baby.

“Oh,” she says, noticing Wedge for the first time. “You must be Wedge. Luke’s mentioned you quite a bit.”

“Has he?” Wedge raises an eyebrow in Luke’s direction. Luke looks the other way, the picture of innocence.

“He has indeed. I think he might be a bit sweet on you.” Paeli grins wickedly, and in that moment Wedge knows that she knows what’s going on between them. “Besides, even if he hadn’t, I know a fair bit about the great Commander Antilles. My brother was obsessed with Rogue Squadron during the war. Kept wanting to run away and join you; we always told him he was too young. The best pilot in all the Rebellion, he said you were.”

Wedge blushes. “I don’t know about that ma’am. I think that title belongs to Luke.”

“Don’t be too modest,” Luke says, nudging at Wedge’s shoulder. “You outflew me once or twice. I think that means something.”

“Anyway, I’m glad to see that you’re on the mend, Commander. And that we might see a bit more of you around here now. But I’ll be out of your hair; I’m sure you must have things to get back to.”

She says all this but doesn’t leave, and it takes Wedge a moment to realise that’s because he’s still holding her baby. He offers Hené up, and Paeli bends down to take her daughter back. Hené clings to Wedge’s finger with all her strength, but Wedge pulls his finger from her grip.

He had Hené in his arms for all of five minutes, and now without her he feels bereft. He watches as Paeli walks away, and as Hené reaches over her shoulder back for Wedge.

“Man, Hené really liked you,” Luke says with a smile. “I mean she’s a friendly little soul but that was quite something.”

“Hmmm,” Wedge hums in response.

“Leia said you were good with Ben, actually, the couple of times you had him. Do you like kids?”

“They’re okay I guess.” The answer Wedge gives is noncommittal, because he can’t handle this conversation right now. Even as his brain tells him it’s silly, his heart is yearning to have Hené, a baby, any baby, back in his arms. And Luke’s question, ‘do you like kids?’ is only one step away from ‘do you want kids?’ and Wedge…

He wants, as ridiculous as that is.

He also knows that, while he’s been lucky on occasion, he’s never going to get this one thing. So he moves on.

Luckily, Luke isn’t in the mood to press him on it. Just hums a jaunty tune, and says, “Okay then, we really ought to get going, before Jahon and Eirtaé send a search party after us. Let's get home.”

Later, after dinner, Wedge sits on the sofa as he watches Luke sort through some bits on a datapad on the table. Wedge is supposed to be resting; Luke is so distracted by whatever he’s dealing with that he hasn’t noticed that Wedge isn’t.

Luke sighs, hand in hair, looking rumpled. Wedge studies him carefully. He looks tired, sorting through whatever it is that he’s doing.

Wedge wonders what he’ll be like in a few years time. Luke has changed so much over the years. Will the burden of rebuilding the Jedi Order become to much for him, weigh about his shoulders like a mantle made of steel? A picture takes shape in his mind. Of Luke, sitting at a table like this one, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

The Luke in Wedge’s dream is subtly different from the one in front of him. He’s dressed in Jedi robes, his hair is a little darker, and he’s grown a beard. He’s hard at work – that’s no different – but he lifts his head, to the sound of something Wedge can’t hear. Someone appears at the doorway, smiling, chiding Luke, who laughs and stands up to greet them.

Wedge sees himself. Himself with a small child on his hip, in uniform. Older, too, but in a dignified way, and with a look of happiness that… Wedge can’t remember wearing. Luke greets him with a kiss, chaste, close-mouthed but filled with affection and Wedge is drowning in the comfort of this.

He shakes his head. He cannot be thinking like this. It’s a fantasy, nothing else. He and Luke and a kid? Nonsense. What they have now is good, but it’s not going to last forever. It didn’t before. It won’t now.

“You’re at it again,” Luke chides, but his voice is fond.

“What?”

“Thinking too hard. You should be resting.” Wedge hears the scrape of a chair against the floor. “Do you want to talk about whatever’s on your mind?”

Dreams of a future that Wedge can’t believe will ever come to pass? “No, it’s not important. You finish up whatever you’re doing.”

“You sure? I can get back to this later, you know, you’re more important than this.”

Wedge allows himself a small smile. Luke keeps saying that, but sooner or later the universe will present him with a problem that is greater than the care of one injured x-wing pilot. “Finish it up, then come here.”

“I can work with that.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Luke and Wedge get some visitors, and Luke has adventures in the kitchen.

Another week goes by.

It’s a week filled with excruciating physical therapy as Jahon pushes forward with the notion that Wedge will be back on his feet inside a month. And as pained as he is to admit it, it’s working. Day by day, Wedge is recovering a little more of his strength, feeling more like a person than a patient.

He’s still not sure that his legs are going to hold up under him anytime soon, but that isn't his call to make.

He and Luke have started venturing out a little, walking along paths outside the house and by the lake shore, the ones that can handle Wedge’s chair at least. It’s nice. Just to take in each other’s company, outside the confines of the house. For a brief moment there’s even talk of taking Wedge to Theed for the liberation celebration. But it’s decided quickly that the event is too busy, with too many crowds, and too much potential for something to go wrong.

Wedge doesn’t exactly mind. He likes being at Varykino with Luke. That’s enough for him.

Over breakfast one morning, Wedge asks: “Anything interesting happening?”

In the middle of a cup of caf, Luke is also attempting to check his data-pad for the latest missives. He drains the cup and places it back down on the table before answering Wedge. “Eh, bits and pieces. They’ve invited Leia to Theed for this celebration; she’s still trying to see if she can work it into her schedule, and then if she can make it out to see us. You wouldn’t mind a visit from Leia, right?”

Wedge shakes his head. “Of course not. She’s welcome here any time, if she can get away. Her and Han.”

“Oh, this is interesting.” Luke flicks through his messages at record pace, but stops at something. “They’ve also asked Shara Bey to come. She’s arriving today, along with her husband and son, and Leia apparently told her we were around. And her son found out, and is demanding to visit.”

“Poe?” Wedge has one previous encounter with Shara Bey’s son under his belt, from a previous bout of medical leave. He’d been a toddler then, but a babbling enthusiastic one, who’d been delighted to not only see his mother again, but to spend the entire week scrabbling over Wedge’s lap demanding tales of daring do about flying.

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

“A little. He’s a good kid.” It had been after Hoth, and Shara had only brought him along because she couldn’t stand how damn sad he looked. He’d been missing Luke badly at that point, the two of them still not quite on speaking terms after everything that happened on Bespin, and Luke’s preoccupations afterwards. It had stung, that Luke hadn’t been there, even though Wedge had never blamed him for being away. Poe had been a much needed balm, a piece of simple delight in that dark and endless war.

Now Wedge does have Luke, and is grateful for him every day, but he wouldn’t exactly turn down a visit from a small ball of sunshine.

“Shara’s unsure if she can get away, there’s some sort of ceremony involved that she has to prepare for, but she’s asking if she can send Poe and Kes to us. Would keep Poe out of trouble in Theed at least.”

“You should probably check with Eirtaé first.” Though if Wedge knows the woman, she’ll already be making the necessary arrangements for Kes and Poe’s arrival. “But I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Are you sure?” Luke looks up at Wedge through long lashes, mouth pinched in concern. “A – how old is Shara’s son, three? – running about the place, causing chaos?”

“He’s four, and I’m sure I’ll cope,” Wedge replies. Luke’s concern doesn’t go amiss, especially given how picky Wedge has been about visitors. But he’s dealt with Poe Dameron whilst injured once before and he doesn’t anticipate any trouble with doing it again. They could probably do with a little excitement in their lives.

“If you say so.” Luke grins, cheeky, then leans in for a quick kiss. Wedge wraps a hand around Luke’s neck, though, tangling it in the ends of Luke’s hair, and keeps Luke close, He spends a while just breathing Luke in, kissing him soft and slick and slow, revelling in the comfort and familiarity of the act.

They eventually part, Luke tugging away, but he places a warm kiss on Wedge’s forehead before drawing back completely. “Okay, love. I’ll go see Eirtaé about it, and we’ll have the Damerons over.”

It sounds so achingly domestic, the way Luke phrases it. Like they are just a couple having friends over because they _can._ Not that it’s the result of intergalactic politics and an extended period of medical leave. Wedge – who’s never known domesticity in his adult life – will take what he can get.

After Luke leaves to make the arrangements, Jahon appears. “Physical therapy time,” he says, as Wedge sighs. “You know the drill by now.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wedge downs the last of a cup of tea and clears away the last of the breakfast things. “I know the drill.”

.

Out on the back entranceway, the entire household prepares for an imminent arrival “You know,” Wedge says, “When you said that the Damerons wanted to visit, I wasn’t anticipating them turning up this afternoon.”

Luke shrugs from besides Wedge. “They were already on planet, what was I supposed to do, say no?”

Upon hearing that the Damerons were descending upon them that day, everyone went into a little bit of a frenzy. Laverna had panicked about dinner. Eirtaé, true to form, had already set up a suite of rooms for them, but had gone over the rest of Varykino with a fine tooth comb, moving furniture and making the place suitable for a visiting four year old. Jahon had vanished, presumably to lock away any and all medical equipment. Luke and Wedge had turned their quarters into something fit for visitors, moving aside the blankets and pillows off the sofa in Wedge’s room – which Luke still spend most nights on – and tidying away the surplus stack of books and holo-discs that had accumulated.

“I see them!” the housemaid calls. She’s hanging off the porch, looking down into the road below.

“Right on time,” Eirtaé says. “Back please, Castilla, though stay close. Mr Dameron may want a hand with something. Wedge, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Wedge is a little baffled that she’s singled him out for concern. He really is alright, today at least.

“Good.”

A quick glance at Eirtaé reveals an expression that Wedge would have described as nervous on anyone else, but Eirtaé, handmaiden to the Queen throughout the greatest crisis that modern Naboo has ever known, doesn’t do nerves.

A quickly advancing hovercar, marked with the standard of the palace, tears Wedge’s thoughts away from the subject of Eirtaé’s disposition. It pulls in along the steps that lead up to the porch that they’re all waiting on. Out of the passenger door steps Kes Dameron, who pauses for a minute to wonder at Varykino. He catches sight of Luke and Wedge, and throws a sketchy salute in their direction.

Kes moves round the car, opening the one of the back seat doors. As soon as he does so, a little dark haired boy jumps out, racing away before Kes can manage to catch him. He makes for the steps, taking them as quickly as his little legs can carry him, whilst Kes is still contemplating whether he’ll ever manage to catch him.

The small whirlwind who must be Poe Dameron reaches the top of the steps before anyone’s had a chance to catch him. He barrels across the porch at similarly break-neck speeds. “Wedge!”

Luke is the one who spots that he’s going for a bulls-eye with Wedge’s bad leg, intent on throwing himself at the man. “Whoa there!” Luke scoops Poe up with the force, a moment before a nasty collision. He steps forward and takes Poe in his arms, lifting him up so the boy’s face is level with his. “You can’t just barrel into Wedge, young man.”

“I did try to explain.” Having dashed up the stairs after Poe, Kes Dameron is just a little out of breath. “Sorry, Wedge. Poe, we discussed this. Wedge is injured, so you’ve got to be extra careful with him.”

“I know that!” Poe whines in the most indignant tone. “He was injured last time. I can’t go near his arm cause if I touch it it’ll hurt but I can do everything else.”

His little face is scrunched up, convinced that he’s right. “Oh, Poe.” Wedge beckons for him. “Come here. Yes, Luke,” who’s pulling the most dubious expression at allowing Poe within a mile of Wedge after the near miss. “It’s okay. Set him in my lap. Poe, you’ve got to promise to be really still, okay?”

Poe nods. “I promise.”

“Good.” Wedge smiles, as much for Luke as for Poe, and Luke sets Poe in Wedge’s lap. “You’re right about last time, Poe. I’d injured my arm then. But this time I’ve injured my leg, and my hips, and my back. So you’re going to have to be a bit careful with me, okay?”

“Okay.” Poe is sitting very still for a four year old, but his hands are fidgeting. “Can I still hug you?”

“Yeah.” Wedge wraps an arm around Poe. “Hugs are still good. Just take it slow.”

Poe does so, turning his little frame into Wedge’s side, and wrapping his arms as far as he can around Wedge. Wedge brings his hand up to nestle in Poe’s dark curls.

Relieved that Poe is in no immediate danger of doing any more damage, Kes turns to Luke and offers his hand. “Nice to see you again, Master Skywalker.”

Luke accepts the offered handshake. “It’s just Luke, Kes. If you’re going to be our guests, I insist on first names.”

“You’re Luke Skywalker?”

Poe turns around to face Luke sharply, and Wedge gives a small grunt of pain as little limbs dig into still healing wounds. “Sorry, Wedge.” Poe looks sheepish at having already forgotten, but Wedge waves it off. Nevertheless, Kes leans in and picks Poe off of Wedge’s lap, settling the boy on his hip.

“I am,” Luke says. “And you must be Poe.”

“You gave mom our tree! Do you want to know how it’s doing? It’s almost as big as Dad now, and it’s got green leaves all year round. I like to sit under it sometimes. Mom says that one day I might be able to climb it. Have you ever climbed a tree Master Skywalker?”

Luke looks almost apoplectic, completely unused to the behaviour of small children and the number of questions they’re capable of asking in such a short time. Kes looks apologetic. Wedge just laughs. “He has, Poe, I watched him do it once.” There aren’t a whole lot of trees on Tatooine, so Wedge had actually witnessed the first time Luke had ever scaled a tree. “Come inside, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

.

The sheer size of Varykino doesn’t fail to impress both Poe and Kes, and Kes is slightly taken back at the luxury of the suite of rooms that have been provided for his and Poe’s use. He voices this aloud to Eirtaé, who smiles at the compliment, and then bids them all farewell – she has work to do.

Launching himself at one of the beds, Poe falls into the soft down of the bedspread. “It’s so soft dad!” he proclaims just as Kes chides him for the fact that his shoes are still on.

“The beds are ridiculously comfy here,” Luke agrees. “I did much the same thing when I found my room. Just lay on the bed for an age.”

“That would probably be the longest amount of time you actually spent in that bed,” Wedge snarks. Almost every night since then Luke has slept on the sofa in Wedge’s room, and the nights he hasn’t spent there, Wedge’s doesn’t think he slept at all.

Kes, however, misconstrues the comment, glancing between them with a raising eyebrow. Thankfully, he chooses not to bring it up in front of Poe.

“Poe, dear, are you going to help unpack or are you just going to laze on that bed all day?” Kes turns to his son, who’s thrown himself wide into a star in the centre of the bed. “Or at least do something useful. Maybe if you ask Luke really nicely he’ll give you the extended tour so you can show me everything later?”

“I don't mind doing that,’ Luke says with a shrug, as Poe sits bolt upright.

“A tour, a tour? Momma said there was a lake, can I see the lake, Master Luke?” Poe’s off the bed and on his feet and tugging at Luke’s hand before anyone knows it.

“Go, Luke,” Wedge says with a wave of his hand. “You two have some fun, show Poe the sights. We’ll catch you up later.”

Babbling away with a thousand loud questions, Poe pulls Luke out the door, leaving Kes to unpack in peace.

“I see he’s got to the talkative stage,” Wedge says with a laugh.

“Yep.” Kes grins ruefully. “Can barely get him to shut up most days. It’s cute enough, but I haven’t known a moment of quiet in months. All in all, I feel a little bit sorry for inflicting him on your boy.”

“My—?” Wedge shakes his head. Kes is his age; boy is the wrong word to be using to describe Luke, but it’s the possessive pronoun that really throws him. “Wait, this was a set-up. Well I knew it was a set-up, you were trying to foist Poe off on one of us so you could actually unpack, but it wasn’t about that at all. You just wanted to get me alone.”

“You or Luke.” Kes is casual as he unzips one of their bags, fishing out piles of folded clothes and transferring them to the dresser. “So, Luke’s barely spent a night in his own bed? Does this mean that betting pool that’s been going since Yavin might finally pay out?”

Wedge narrows his eyes. “Betting—? Wait, of course there was a pool, people were making book on everyone. Hells, I made a pretty penny off you and Shara and her being pregnant, I have no right to judge you for betting on my love life.” He taps his fingers against the arm rest of his chair. “Luke’s not sharing my bed. Let’s make that clear. There’s something between us, yes, but… that’s hardly new, really. As a matter of fact, how did that pool not pay out? I know Luke and I like to think we were discreet, and we were, but, come on. We spent nights in each other’s quarters. Someone at some point must have come up with evidence we were sleeping together.”

“The money wasn’t on you sleeping together,” Kes says. “Most people assumed you’d done that on Yavin, all in all.”

“For the record, we didn’t.” They’d both been grieving too much to even think about it. Maybe there was a spark, but Wedge’s feelings didn’t set in fully for a while, after he’d worked with Luke and gotten to properly know the other man.

“The money was on you actually getting together. It seemed like a sure enough bet, given that Organa and Solo were slowly wrapping themselves up in each other. Never did quite work out how you didn’t get your act together.”

Wedge worries at his hands, thinking it over. In truth, he’s not sure either. He’d wanted it, but he’d never spoken up, never managed to string the words together to tell Luke about the feelings that welled up inside his chest, every time they were together. Looking back, Wedge isn’t sure it would have made a difference. With the war, and Luke’s Jedi business, there wasn’t much hope of them actually working out.

“Life got complicated. There was a war on,” Wedge says. “Sometimes these things don’t work.”

“Yeah, well, I always thought it was a shame.” Kes dumps the duffle bag in the bottom of the closet. “But you say that something’s happening between you?”

“Something,” Wedge nods. “It’s not… I don’t know what it is. Let us work it out on our own, okay?”

Kes furrows his brow in concern. “You two don’t have a great track record at that.”

“Yeah, maybe not. But it's still our mess to sort out.” Wedge shuffles his chair backwards, towards the door. “Are you unpacked? Shall we go and see how Poe and Luke are getting on?” He knows it must be obvious enough to Kes that he’s trying to get him off the subject, but at the moment, Wedge doesn’t care.

“Sure.”

.

“Come on papa!!”

Poe’s on his feet, treading all over the picnic blanket, threatening to set plates up in disarray. Wedge leans over to move the plastic glasses which still have liquid in them out of his way, but otherwise leaves him to it.

A little way away, Kes and Luke are sparring. It was a friendly competition that had started after lunch, when Kes had mentioned something about being out of practice, and Luke had offered to go through some exercises with him. That had devolved into good-natured teasing and ribbing, and then into a full on sparring match. Wedge has never been one for hand-to-hand – he’s a pilot, he knows where his skills are, he can hold his own in a fight but anything like this is beyond him – but he thinks that Kes is holding his own pretty well.

“Get him, Luke!” Wedge shouts. Poe turns around and pouts at Wedge, because he’s a kid and he thinks his father is the best person in the universe, and why would you cheer for anyone else? Kes aims high, punching for Luke’s shoulder, and Luke dodges and lunges deep and to the left, twisting around so he can aim low. But Kes sees it coming and blocks it, pushing Luke into a stalemate, until Luke breaks free and stumbles back.

Luke wipes the sweat from his brow, pushing his hair back. He smiles at Kes, that cocky half-smirk he has when he’s got everything well in hand. He glances over to Wedge. Wedge offers him a thumbs up and a wide grin in response, and Luke winks back at him.

“Oii!” Poe protests, pushing Wedge’s hand down. “We want dad to win! Come on.”

Poe’s lucky he’s cute, considering how belligerent he’s being right now. “You might, Poe, but my money’s on Luke,” Wedge says. He pushes Poe into a sitting position, places an arm around his back. Poe curls into Wedge, and Wedge is glad he sat the boy on his better side. “It’s just a bit of fun, anyway.”

“Yeah, but papa’s the best! No one can beat him… well, apart from ma. Mama beats him sometimes.”

Wedge laughs. Of course Shara occasionally bests Kes. That sounds like the Damerons.

“Your mother’s a good one,” he says, before turning his attention back to the fight. Kes is on the defensive now, dodging and feinting away from Luke, who’s calm and ordered and precise about the entire thing. He might not have a lightsaber in hand now, but Wedge knows this is how he fights when he has one. With concentration and focus beyond what the ordinary man can achieve.

Luke pushes Kes down, taking his legs out from under him. Kes throws an arm up, blocking anything resembling a finishing blow, attempting to get back on his feet again. They struggle for a minute or so, before Luke backs off, offering his hand. “Draw?” he says, with a smile.

“I think that might be charitable on your part, Luke.” Kes brushes himself off and accepts Luke’s hand. “But I’m not going to complain. Draw.”

They both clap each other on the shoulder, before coming back to the picnic blanket. Poe runs for Kes, who scoops him up and raises him high into the sky. “You were so good papa!” he says, laughing, and Kes brings him close and nuzzles him in response.

Luke drops down beside Wedge, reaching for the biscuits that were packed in with the picnic that haven’t yet been demolished. “You enjoying yourself?” he asks, nudging Wedge’s side.

“You and Kes certainly put on quite a show,” Wedge muses. His gaze is still drawn to Kes and Poe, to the sound of Poe’s babbles of laughter, soft and utterly joyous as Kes tosses him up and down.

Luke tracks Wedge’s gaze. He too lingers on the sight of Kes and Poe for a moment, before saying: “That kid might be a menace, but he’s damn cute.”

“Yeah.” Wedge could say more, but this is a dangerous topic to be on.

Luckily, with Poe around, a distraction is never far away, and the kid is out of Kes’s arms and placing himself between Luke and Wedge before Luke can pry any further. “Wedge!” Poe looks up at him with wide eyes, a pleading whine to his voice. “Luke— What’s it like to fly? Mama tells me about it sometimes, but she won’t take me up until I’m older, she says I’m too little now, that I’ve got to wait, but I wanna know. I wanna know what it’s like to fly!”

Wedge looks up and over at Kes, who grins sheepishly. “Hey, I’m not the pilot,” he says, with a shrug.

Poe is a warm, wriggling thing between him and Luke, and he’s difficult to resist. “What do you wanna know, Poe?” Wedge asks, internally sighing in defeat. “Specifically. There’s a lot involved in flying.”

“Everything!” Poe says, turning to Wedge and planting his little hands on Wedge’s thigh, looking up at him with bright eager eyes, and Luke – the bastard – has the audacity to laugh.

.

When they get back, Wedge looks about ready to drop from exhaustion, and Poe’s desperately pretending that he doesn’t also want to drop off.

“Nap time,” Kes declares to Poe. He’s met with a blank stare, and then a protest.

“Sounds like a plan,” Wedge says. “Sign me up.” Instantly, Poe’s entire demeanour changes.

“Can I nap with Wedge? Please?” Poe looks pleadingly at his father, who looks across to Wedge. Wedge nods, and Kes agrees. “Thank you!”

“Give him here,” Wedge says, from his chair, gesturing at his good leg. Kes sets Poe down, carefully. “You two go and do whatever people who are old and well enough to not have to take naps do. We’ll see you in an hour or two.”

“You’ll be alright?” Luke asks. Wedge raises an eyebrow, inviting Luke to argue how much trouble he and Poe, exhausted, can cause. “Yeah, I worry too much, I know.” He steps over to Wedge and kisses him softly, briefly. “Rest well. You too, Poe.” Luke ruffles Poe’s hair, then steps back. Wedge turns his chair round and sets off for the bedroom, leaving Kes and Luke on their own.

Kes turns to Luke. “Where’s the kitchen in this place? I fancy making dinner.”

Luke scrunches his face in confusion. “I think Laverna’s probably already on it.”

Kes shrugs. “Well, on the off chance that she hasn’t, can we go investigate.” Luke drags his feet. “You know where the kitchen is, right? Or…” Kes gives Luke an appraising look. “Hell, can you or Wedge even cook? Or have you taken full advantage of the cook being here?”

“I know where the kitchen is!” Luke says, defensively. He’s in and out; he likes Laverna. “And I can… but it’s all stuff my Aunt taught me, back on Tatooine. Not the Galaxy’s idea of fine or comfort dining. Wedge definitely doesn’t – you must have heard the tale of the Tauntaun on Hoth?”

Kes barks out a fierce laugh. “That was _Wedge_? Hells, no wonder you don’t let him anywhere near the kitchen. Doesn’t mean you can’t give it your best attempt though, come on. I’m sure he’d appreciate a good home cooked meal now and then. Especially from you.”

“What do you mean?” Luke says, stepping towards the kitchen.

“Come on, I’ve seen the pair of you here. It’s all very domestic. Learn how to cook a few things, and the two of you will be set.” Luke stays quiet. “You can’t deny that you’re together. I saw you kiss him just then – I’ve seen you kiss him a handful of times since we arrived. Not to mention all of the other things.”

“Other things?”

Kes sighs. “The little things. It’s subtle, but the way you touch him, the way you look at him. The way he looks back. You look at him and you go hyperfocused, like there’s no one else in the room or the world in that moment, it’s just the two of you. And have you noticed how you’re always aware of him? I know it’s probably enhanced because he’s injured, but half of your attention is always with him, checking that he’s okay, where he is in the room.”

Luke pauses. He stops walking, thinks over everything Kes has said. “Are we that obvious? Am _I_ that obvious?”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Kes counsels. He puts a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I’m married. I know the signs. And, frankly, you’ve always been a bit obvious, Luke, I think it’s just how you are. You wear your feelings on your sleeve.” Luke’s head is still ducked, hiding his face, so Kes presses on. “Do you not want him to know how you feel? Do you not want other people to know? I might not know you well, but it seems to me like you’ve got a good thing going here.”

“Yeah.” Luke’s gaze turns down, his voice soft and a little shaky. “We do. That doesn’t mean it’s going to last.”

Kes huffs. “That’s what this is about? You’re afraid of losing him? There isn’t a war on, anymore, Luke. I know he’s still on active service – or is, when he’s not laid up being injured – and your own life isn’t exactly the safest thing in the world, but… isn’t that more of a reason to make the most of the time you do have, now?”

Luke looks up, his eyes wavering with uncertainty. “I guess.”

“That’s just my advice.” Kes throws an arm around Luke’s shoulders, dragging him in the direction they’d been going before Luke had stopped them. “Come on, lets go and make your boy dinner. You can help. And if we can’t do dinner, we’ll make dessert. It’s always good to know how to make a good dessert. It’ll get you out of all kind of messes.”

“Speaking from experience there, Kes?” Luke’s perked back up, his voice back strong and with a hint of glee in it.

“Shara’s sweet tooth is her weakness; what sort of husband would I be if I didn’t exploit that to the best of my advantage.”

.

It turns out that Laverna has plans for dinner, but hasn’t actually started anything, and is only too happy to let Kes take over her kitchen for the evening – once he promises to tidy up every mess he makes and put everything back exactly where he found it.

Kes puts Luke to work chopping vegetables, carefully explaining how finely and how much of everything is needed. Luke listens carefully, because there was something in what Kes said – he’d like to cook for Wedge, to take care of him that way. A little bit of domesticity for them, even if it is just a far off dream.

Luke’s vegetables join the large pan that Kes has bubbling away, full of meat and spices and a thickening sauce. Kes is hard at work shaping a quick-rising flatbread that looks delicious, and there is rice in a pan ready to go closer to when dinner is ready.

Already, the heady scent of home-cooking is filling the kitchen. Luke peers over the simmering pan, inhaling the vapours.

“See,” Kes says. “Nothing like a bit of home cooking. It’s the way to anyone’s heart.”

“I’m not sure I need to win Wedge over, Kes,” Luke mutters.

“No harm in doubling down.” Kes grins, then knocks his hand on the work surface. “Come, help me shape these.” Luke goes over and is instructed by Kes on the art of parting and shaping the dough so that it’ll rise fast and quick for their purposes.

It then goes into the piping hot oven, and Kes stirs and tastes the sauce, inviting Luke to do the same. “That’s got a kick,” Luke says, with a smile.

“Yep. Just as it should do.” Kes surveys the stove, then checks the clock. “Do you want to go wake Wedge and Poe? It’s been over an hour, and this will be ready soon. There’s no rush, but I know that Poe’s slow to wake – don’t know about Wedge.” He winks at Luke.

Luke scoffs and shakes his head, but goes anyway. The house is quiet, which means they must still be sleeping. Luke lets himself into Wedge’s bedroom, which is low-lit, the curtains partially drawn to keep out the sun.

Luke can still see enough to guide himself in. He doesn’t want to turn on a light. That’ll wake them too abruptly. So he crosses the room to the bed.

In it, he finds Wedge and Poe, lying atop the covers, curled together. Wedge is supported by pillows, as he always is, but there’s now a small human on his chest. Poe’s little head of dark curls is nestled under Wedge’s chin, and one of his hands is fisted in Wedge’s shirt. In the other, he’s clutching Kettch close. And one of Wedge’s hands is curled around Poe’s back, keeping the kid close.

The sight almost knocks the breath out of Luke.

There’s something about the vulnerability of them, the ease at which Wedge has invited this little person into his space. And standing there, Luke remembers not so long ago, when they’d gone to the market and Wedge had held baby Hené in his arms, and looked at her with such adoration.

Luke still doesn’t have an answer to whether Wedge likes kids, not one that Wedge has vocalised aloud, but he increasingly doesn’t have to. Wedge plainly adores them.

Luke’s never been fussed. When he was younger, there were always enough children around the Darklighter family that they were more of annoyance than anything else. And Luke will admit that he loves his nephew, and that he’d figured that children might eventually figure into his life, but he’s never actively wanted them.

Now, watching Wedge with a child curled into his chest, Luke can feel the want clawing up in his chest, threatening to choke him. He tries to cut it off. He doesn’t even know if this thing he has with Wedge will survive them leaving Naboo, let alone long enough for children to factor into it. Their lives aren’t suited to that. They aren’t. Luke doesn’t know if Wedge even wants children, though he has his suspicions about what Wedge’s answer might be.

“Wedge. Wake up.” Luke leans across and shakes Wedge’s shoulder, desperate for a distraction. “Poe, nap time’s over.”

Poe stirs first, lifting his head and scrubbing at sleep-weary eyes with his fist. “Papa?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep and confusion. He drops his hold on Kettch the moment he realises that the toy is not one he’s familiar with, batting it away across the bed.

Luke gasps, his chest desperately sucking in air but it’s not enough, he’s still light-headed. It’s a sight, and Luke has to bite down the want that’s rising inside him again. Poe isn’t their child. They don’t have a child. They’re never going to have a child. This is ridiculous.

“Kes isn’t here right now, Poe. I can take you to him if you want. It’s Luke,” Luke clarifies, because Poe looks sleep-addled and confused and may have forgotten where he is.

“Papa, please, Master Luke.” Poe outstretches his arms and Luke picks him up, and Poe clings to his side like a limpet.

Luke outstretches the hand that isn’t supporting Poe and shakes Wedge’s shoulder again. “Love, wake up, nap time’s over.” Wedge stirs with a groan. “Take your time. Dinner will be soon, but it’s not urgent.” Luke leans over and presses a soft kiss to Wedge’s temple, skimming his fingers across Wedge’s shoulder and down his bicep, before leaving to take Poe back to Kes.

Back at the kitchen, Luke watches as Kes puts the finishing touches to dinner, humming softly to Poe, who he’s holding on his hip, Poe’s head laid against Kes’s shoulder. Kes looks utterly at peace with Poe, and Luke… Luke is bowled over by the simple joy that is emanating from the pair of them, how easy and happy they are in each other’s company.

Wedge joins them before too long, dressed in simple sleep clothes, his hair still rumpled and his eyes wrinkled with sleep. When he enters, his gaze is caught by Poe and Kes, and his attention then falls to the food on the stove. “You cooked?” he questions, with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not that hard,” Kes says, with a shrug. He gives one of the pans a stir, and then calls Luke over. “It's done, help me dish up.” Luke brings over the serving bowls, and holds them steady as Kes ladles the dishes into them. The flat bread is pulled out the oven and set on a large serving dish.

Spread out onto the table, it looks like a feast, and Luke suddenly feels mightily impressed with his accomplishments.

Everyone tucks in eagerly. Kes demonstrates how one traditionally pairs the sauce with the flatbreads, using the disk of the bread as a utensil, and Luke endeavours to eat it like that. Wedge gives up and gets a fork and spoon. But a couple of mouthfuls in he’s humming appreciatively.

“This is good,” he says, with a smile on his face. “Did you really help make it?”

“I just did what Kes told me to do.” Luke shrugs, but Wedge’s smile stays, and Luke finds a warmth blooming in his chest. Maybe Kes had a point. It felt good to make something for Wedge, to look after him.

It felt good to know that, in this one way at least, maybe they wouldn’t make a complete wreck of their domestic lives together.

.

“Do you know what my parents were going to do when my sister and I were born?”

Eirtaé looks up, a befuddled expression on her face. It turns into a frown as she sees Luke at her office door, on his own. “Luke,” she says, quickly shutting down her datapad, “do you not have guests to entertain?”

“Wedge is looking after them.” Luke sidles into her office, dropping into the easy chair across from her desk.

“And who’s looking after Wedge?”

“Wedge is capable of looking after himself for an hour or two,” Luke says. “Now, do you know if there was a plan? Surely the entire game would have been up, when we were born?”

“Is this about how your parents were intending to continue to deceive the Jedi Order, or about how they were planning on raising you, and by any chance does it have anything to do with the small child who is now in our midst and your own parental feelings that may or may not have been awakened by that?” Eirtaé raises an eyebrow at Luke, staring him down.

Luke turns sheepish, worrying the edge of the chair with his fingers. “Can you just answer the question, please?”

His voice is weak and thin. Eirtaé sighs. This is clearly troubling him, and now is not the time to ask if it has anything to do with him and Wedge and children. “In all honesty, I don’t know. I wasn’t on Padmé’s staff at the time, and although I was in contact with her, and the handmaidens she had at the time, I wasn’t intimately involved with the details. I knew she was pregnant – she contacted me to smooth things over with Queen Appailana if necessary. I think she was planning on returning to Naboo for the birth, and it's entirely possible that she intended to leave you in the care of her parents or her sister. I’m not sure.”

Eirtaé looks at Luke’s crest-fallen face. “I’m sorry I don’t have better answers for you.”

Luke turns his hands over. “It’s okay. I— I didn’t expect you to know. Thought it worth asking.”

He pushes himself up out the chair, intent on leaving.”Luke—” He looks back to Eirtaé. “You would have been loved. Your parents loved you, of that I am sure.”

Luke gives her a quick smile. “Thanks Eirtaé.”

.

Off the beaten track of the Lake Country, there are some beautiful wonders of nature.

Luke’s particularly fond of a small waterfall, hidden behind a canopy of trees. He’s made it out here once or twice – it’s a bit of a trek, a scramble up some hills, not exerting but further that Luke usually wants to go for his morning meditation. Today, though, today he needs the space to think.

So he hides behind bushels of green foliage, settling into a deep meditative trance. No katas or exercises today, just him and his thoughts.

Thoughts of Wedge, in particular.

The longer Luke spends here, with Wedge, the more he realises that he wants to have this. To have Wedge. To spend the rest of his life with him. To be able to wake up in the morning to his smile, to spend his days buoyed by the sound of his voice and the sight of him, dark hair that will someday turn to grey. To go to bed at night in the circle of Wedge’s arms, feeling Wedge’s heart beat in his chest, pressed against Luke’s back.

Luke still doesn’t know if he can ask that of Wedge. He doesn’t know what Wedge wants – but it’s probably about time he asked. Would Wedge mind being tethered to man who’s duty to the Galaxy will _always_ have to come before the man he loves? Wedge understands duty better than most. And he feels it's tug keenly, strongly, still, staying with the service long after the war is over.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind at all.

Maybe he loves Luke enough that the question of what sort of life they could have together is irrelevant? That he’d take whatever was possible to get.

Luke is starting to think that he loves Wedge that much.

He’s always known he liked the other man – from the moment he sat down with him after the destruction of the Death Star, the two last survivors of Red Squadron, Luke knew that they would be bonded for life. And flying with him afterwards, forming Rogue Squadron – his feelings just got more intense, until they’d tumbled into bed. And kept tumbling, finding solace after missions and long days in the comfort of the others grasp. They never talked about their feelings, but Luke had felt attraction and fondness well up in his chest, felt those feelings turn into affection and then love.

It’s only deepened during the time they've been on Naboo, turning fierce and strong and overwhelming, a feeling that Luke could drown in if he had any less control.

“Careful, young one.”

The voice comes as a whisper between the leaves of the trees. But it is also steady and familiar, and Luke opens his eyes to Obi Wan Kenobi.

Luke is surprised. He’s seen less and less of Obi Wan since Endor – it’s mainly been his father who’s appeared to him. And the man who has appeared before him is clearly Obi Wan, but he’s younger than the man who Luke is familiar with. His face is lighter, and his hair is auburn, not the bright white Luke knows.

“I can’t help how I feel,” Luke says.

He won’t – point blank refuses to – lose Wedge to the whims of his long dead elders, and a rule that he thinks is absolutely stupid in the first place.

He might well end up losing Wedge to other things, but he won’t lose him to this.

“There’s nothing wrong with loving someone,” Obi Wan says, “as long as you are prepared for the pain that comes with it.”

Luke cocks his head. That’s a slightly different tune to the one he’s heard from Obi Wan and Yoda before. “What happened to no attachments?”

“I think we’ve all given up any hope that you might follow that rule. And…” Obi Wan sighs. “Your father wasn’t the first person to break that particular rule. He was just the first to do it quite so flagrantly, and with the most disastrous consequences.”

Luke scrunches up his face. He’s curious. “So you’ll admit that it was bullshit?”

Obi Wan lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m not sure I’d go quite that far.” His mouth tightens, any trace of a smile vanishing. “You realise that by loving this young man you’re painting a target on his back? People will use him to get to you. Is that something you’re prepared to have happen, for him to be hurt or killed because you chose to love him?”

Luke averts his eyes. “I think he’s the sort to live a life that would put him in danger, regardless of my involvement. I could lose him to anything.” He came within a hair’s breadth of losing Wedge in the accident, and he’d have grieved bitterly at the other man’s loss. But life would go on.

“And what would you do if you lost him?”

“Grieve.” Luke still doesn’t like thinking about it, something horrible and dark clawing at his chest at the idea of never seeing Wedge again. But he lived with the threat of it throughout the war. “Treasure the time I had with him. And live.” Luke eyes Obi Wan. “He wouldn’t be the first person who I’d loved and lost.”

Obi Wan smiles sadly at him. “I suppose not.”

“I’m not my father.”

“No, you aren't.” Obi Wan gives Luke an appraising look. “Love is… powerful. It has an immense capacity to bring joy, and an immense capacity to bring hurt. Guard your heart carefully, but don’t be afraid of letting him in.”

“I’m not.”

“So why haven’t you told him you love him?”

Luke furrows his brow. “Because—” He doesn’t have any decent reasons anymore. He knows that. “I don’t know.”

“Tell him,” Obi Wan says. “The only thing which will hurt more than losing him, is losing him when there are words still left unsaid between you.”

Luke nods. He knows it needs to be said. He keeps biting the words back from the tip of his tongue, wondering if now is the right moment to say them. “Who were they?” he asks, because there’s a pain in Obi Wan’s voice that speaks of experience.

“Which time?” Obi Wan smiles wryly, then vanishes off into the Force.

.

It’s been another long day. Luke had crept off somewhere for most of the morning, leaving Wedge completely at Poe’s mercies, who’d asked a never ending stream of questions about flying and starfighters and the battles Wedge had fought in, all whilst trying his best to be helpful.

And by helpful, he’s mostly made a menace of himself. It’s endearingly sweet, but Poe is only four, and can’t lift Wedge up to walk as much as he might like to think he can.

But now Luke is back, and he and Kes made dinner again, and now Wedge is relaxed on the sofa of his room, watching as Poe plays starfighter battles with Luke across the room. Poe’s racing around, navigating an A-Wing through the air, whilst Luke has used the force to make a squadron’s worth of TIE-fighters hover.

Wedge knows he’s probably got the sappiest smile in the world on his face as he watches Luke do battle with Poe’s A-Wing, the TIE-fighters steadily falling out the sky, but he can’t help it. It’s cute. Luke’s sweet with Poe, and it’s a privilege to see Luke so care-free, a wide smile on his face as Poe declares victory.

“Alright, alright!” Luke throws his hands up in mock defeat. Poe dances up and down in celebration. “You got me. Lieutenant Dameron, you are victorious. The battle is yours. The evil empire has been stopped, and your dashing pilot has lived to fight another day.”

“We call it a win when the dashing pilot lives, regardless of whether the Empire’s been stopped,” Wedge calls across the room. There’s no feeling that compares to the knowledge that all his men are back safe. None. He smiles at Luke, who ducks his head in response.

“It’s a cause for celebration, whatever,” Luke agrees. “And for the youngest pilot, I think it’s time for something else, too.”

Poe scowls, just as Kes – who’s sitting in an armchair beside Wedge, so quiet that Wedge had almost forgotten he was there – says: “He’s right, Poe. Bedtime.”

“Don’t wanna.” Poe protests, feebly. “Wanna keep playing with Master Luke.”

“Hey, Poe?” Luke bends over so he’s on Poe’s level, looking up at Poe, and his face is wide and boyish and Wedge’s heart melts a little again. “If you go get your pyjamas on right now, I’ll come tell you a bedtime story. How about that?”

Poe’s eyes go wide and he nods his head sharply. “Yes!” He’s on his feet and making a dash for his bedroom without anyone needing to say another word.

Luke stands up slowly, brushing his knees off. “Kids, eh?” He raises an eyebrow at Kes as he sighs.

“Do you want me to go help deal with him, or…”

“I think I’ve got it,” Luke says. “Don’t worry about it.”

He vanishes after Poe, leaving Kes and Wedge to their peace.

Or so Wedge thought. He becomes aware that Kes is staring at him, a prickling on the back of his neck that indicates that he’s the receiver of unwanted attention. Wedge turns his head. Kes is regarding him with serious, dark eyes.

“You know you could always adopt?” Kes says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and not like he suggested that Luke and Wedge should somehow acquire a baby.

Wedge stutters, his mouth agape, trying to wrap his head around what Kes has just said. Because… “It’s not like that,” he says, forcing the words out of his mouth because no matter what Wedge might want, reality is a different thing. “It’s not. We’re— It’s not like that. We aren’t going to have a baby, Kes.”

“You could have fooled me,” Kes says, adding a low whistle for effect. “Shacking up here, being all domestic. You two aren’t casually dating, and you’re fooling yourself if that’s all you think you’re doing. And you’re good with Poe. Very good with him. Luke too. The pair of you. You’d be good—”

“Stop, please.” Wedge looks at Kes and hopes that his plea works, because he _can_ _’t_ hear this right now. It doesn’t matter if Wedge wants to agree with Kes. It doesn’t.

Kes does. He keeps his mouth closed, but his eyes are soft and still focused on Wedge, inviting Wedge to speak more.

“… who’d even entrust us with a baby?” Wedge whispers, after a long moment of silence. “We’re hardly stellar life models. We’re both too busy. Careers, duties. And we’re both too fucked up, come on, Kes. I can’t walk, my heads barely on straight some days, Luke’s trying to navigate through thousands of years of history that’s suddenly been lost… we couldn’t bring a kid into that.”

“Ahhh.” Kes leans over, and brushes a hand against Wedge’s forearm. “Finally, some actual reasons. Yeah, you two should perhaps work out some shit between your first. But… after that? Think about it. I don’t think it’s as outside the realm of possibility as you might think.”

Wedge cocks his head, considering Kes’s words, considering the images that creep, unbidden into his mind, a life where he and Luke are happy together, where they have a child. They’re dreams, he tells himself again, and all of Kes’s whispering won’t bring them any closer to reality.

He’s working on formulating an answer when Luke walks back in. Kes draws back, shuffling his chair backwards. “Poe asleep?” Kes asks, quickly.

“Yeah,” Luke replies. “Didn’t take long in the end.”

“That’s good.” Kes gathers his commlink and datapad off the table. “I’ll leave the two of you in peace then.”

Kes is off, and Wedge is starting to suspect that he – along with Jahon, and Eirtaé, and everyone else in their lives – is conspiring to give Luke and Wedge even more alone time. Quite frankly, they weren’t short of it.

Luke drops on the sofa beside Wedge, sighing softly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered.” He closes his eyes, leaning back into the sofa. “Never thought that a four-year old could give me that much trouble.”

“Just wait until Ben hits his toddler years properly. Uncle Luke will shortly be in great demand as a babysitter.”

Luke slumps over, head in hands. “Kriff. You’re right. I’m not getting out of that one. Leia’ll kill me if I try.” Then he looks up, his gaze half-lidded, lips pursed and soft. “At least I’ll have you to back me up. I think I’ll manage.”

Wedge can’t help the smile that erupts on his face, even as he scoffs. “I won’t dig you out of trouble with Leia,” he forewarns, even as his chest is filled with a warmth that comes unbidden, because Luke’s words imply that he sees a future with them, and maybe Wedge can’t believe it but in these twilight hours, he can dare to dream for something this simple.

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to.” Luke leans over and places a warm hand on Wedge’s thigh. “You reckon it’s time for bed?” Wedge nods in agreement. “Yeah, thought so. Do you want a hand getting back into your chair, or can you manage yourself?”

“Can we dispense with the chair?”

Luke laughs, softly. “You want to be carried?” He stands up anyway, pushing his sleeves up in a mock display of strength. “Fine by me.”

Luke lifts Wedge into his arms. The refresher’s been modified significantly enough that Wedge can do everything he needs to by himself, without a chair or much support – everything except bathing, anyway, and Luke’s happy enough to help out there. It takes Wedge a little while to sort himself out, but Luke knows it’s getting quicker and easier for him – and that’s what matters.

When Wedge is done, Luke once again lifts Wedge into his arms, cradling the other man close. The weight is reassuring. Luke tucks him into bed easy enough, part of a routine that’s now long established. Luke leans over to kiss Wedge on the forehead, and whisper, “night love.”

He draws away, but finds that Wedge’s hand has caught around his wrist. “Come back here,” Wedge says, tugging Luke closer.

“You want another kiss?” Luke smirks.

“No, I want you to _stay._ _”_ Wedge’s tone is insistant. “This bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

“Wedge—” Luke sighs, because there’s a reason that he’s _not_ been sleeping in Wedge’s bed, and it isn’t because he doesn’t want to. “What if I hurt you?”

“Luke, I’m not some fragile thing anymore, I’ve healed a fair bit – you aren’t going to break me sleeping next to me, come on, that’s ridiculous. Please.” Wedge’s eyes are soft and dark and pleading. “I want this. I want you.”

Luke knows well enough that he only has to look at Wedge a certain way and Wedge goes weak at the knees, responsive to any suggestion that comes out of Luke’s mouth. It’s a well known fact in general, actually.

But it’s not like Luke has any better defences when Wedge gives him the same look.

“You sure? Absolutely sure?”

“Get up here already,” is Wedge’s answer, patting the side of the bed.

Luke, already in sleep clothes – he’d be planning on bedding down on the sofa again – shakes his head, but gives in. He scrambles onto the bed, avoiding Wedge’s bad leg – it makes sense to sleep on Wedge’s good side. The covers are warm, and the pillows soft, and Wedge is a solid line beside him.

“That’s better,” Wedge says, voice soft with sleep, tangling his fingers with Luke’s left hand. Luke curls his in Wedge’s in response.

Wedge is right. This is nice.

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

In the morning, when Luke wakes, he finds himself curled like a limpet to Wedge’s side, head tucked into the curve of Wedge’s neck.

Luke thinks that he could get _very_ used to this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which maybe, just maybe, Luke and Wedge get their feelings sorted out, Kes and Poe leave, and Leia drops in for a quick visit.

The Damerons head back to Theed that evening.

Wedge had hoped that Shara might come out – he knows Shara better than he ever did Kes. With her insight, he might have been able to make a judgement on everything that her husband has said, whether Kes was right about _any_ of it. But she’s too busy, and the Damerons never planned to be on Naboo long.

“I’ll give mamma your love,” Poe promises, cheeky and wide-eyed. “You give me a kiss, and I’ll give mamma a kiss for you.”

Luke laughs. Wedge can see the sense in that, buried in a child’s logic. And so he kisses both of Poe’s rosy cheeks, much to Poe’s delight, before drawing Poe into a tight hug. “You make sure to do that,” Wedge says solemnly, and he makes Poe shake on it – the same handshake he makes the Rogues do when he has to swear the Rogues to things, which makes Luke smile all the more, draped over the back of Wedge’s chair as he is. “There you are. You’ll be a fully fledged member of Rogue Squadron before too long with a grip like that.”

Poe says his goodbyes to Luke too – with a promise that Poe will write and tell Luke all about how the force tree in his backyard is.

Then Kes settles the boy on his hip. “I know I’ve said it, but thank you for having us,” Kes says. “You two…” Kes breaks into a soft smile, considering his words for a moment. “You’re good together, you know. It's been a privilege to see that.”

Neither Wedge nor Luke know what to say to that. Wedge holds his breath close, afraid of all the words that might slip out if he does say anything, questions that are still burning that he fears he will never get answers to.

“You ever want to visit Yavin IV – relive the old glory days, what not – give me and Shara a call. We’d be delighted to have you.”

“We will,” Luke promises. He gives Kes a quick hug. “Have a safe journey back to Theed.”

“Thanks.”

Kes gives a jaunty wave, and Poe’s arms whirl round in circles as Kes turns to go, slipping into the hovercar under the cover of darkness. Wedge and Luke watch the headlights disappear into the distance, until the specks of light have completely faded.

It’s quiet on the Naboo porch. There’s no sound but the ones that the two of them are making, the sound of them breathing, of Luke shuffling his feet, of Wedge kicking his good leg against the support of the chair.

“I guess it’s just us again,” Luke says. His voice is quiet, hesitant.

“You, me, Jahon, Eirtaé, Laverna, Castilla’s about occasionally – and isn’t Leia going to drop by in a couple of days?”

“She’s going to try, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

Wedge keeps his expression steady even as turmoil begins to eat him up inside. There’s something in the set of Luke's expression that makes him wary; there’s something Luke isn’t saying, and that worries Wedge.

Has he been kidding himself this entire time? Is there time here, and all the blessings its brought, finally up?

Luke pushes his hair back from his forehead, sighing. He looks as exhausted as Wedge feels. “Do you—” He starts, before reconsidering. “You know there’s a whole bunch of stuff that we aren’t talking about that we probably should be.”

“Yeah.” Wedge can’t disagree with that; for all that he doesn’t necessarily want to talk about any of it, there’s no denying that they should. Luke doesn’t venture any further on the topic, so Wedge prompts, “Has this got anything to do with anything Kes said to you?”

“A little,” Luke admits, his face sheepish. “Mostly he just made me realise a couple of things.”

“Things?”

“What I—” Luke stops short, again. “Kriff, I don’t know. Not really. It’s late, and I… We should talk. But, in the morning?”

“You know that if Kes was here he’d tell us that we were avoiding the issue.”

“Maybe I am.” Luke ducks his head, avoiding Wedge’s gaze. “But can you honestly tell me you want to have this conversation now, late at night, out here on the porch?”

“No, not really.”

Luke looks at Wedge, fondness in his eyes. “Thought so.” He leans across to kiss Wedge, comfortable but firm, on the mouth, his fingertips tilting Wedge’s jaw up gently. “Come on, let's get you back inside and into bed.”

“Us,” Wedge says, voice soft, wrapping his hand around Luke’s. “Us into bed.”

Luke recognises it for the open invitation it is, and – he shared Wedge’s bed without incident last night. In fact, he enjoyed it. And he’d like nothing more than to repeat the experience of waking up with Wedge in his arms. “Alright, love,” he says, bringing Wedge’s hand up and brushing a kiss over Wedge’s knuckles. “Always.”

.

Luke wakes curled up to Wedge’s side. The sunlight is just starting to spill through the gap in he curtains, illuminating Wedge’s face, still peaceful in sleep.

Luke props himself up on his elbow and just watches Wedge’s chest rise and fall slowly, the content expression of a man soft in sleep. Certain that Wedge is still sleeping, Luke carefully brushes a strand of hair out of Wedge’s face. “I love you,” he whispers, trying the words aloud. Wedge sleeps on, snuffling softly.

Eventually, the spell of the morning is broken by breakfast, and then Jahon coming in to help Wedge up. There’s physical therapy exercises to be done, so Luke vanishes to meditate in the grounds, and have a long hard think about exactly what he wants – and needs – to say to Wedge.

It buys him an hour and a bit, to get his thoughts in order. Heading back into the house, Luke catches Jahon just as he’s exiting Wedge’s room, and gives him a short wave.

Luke realises that that might be a mistake as Jahon hastens towards him, his face thunderous. With a raised forearm to Luke’s chest, Jahon backs him back into the wall. He’s taller than Luke, enough that Luke thinks that the experience should be frightening – if it hadn’t already been established that Luke could take Jahon any day in a fight. But still, the man isn’t one to loose his temper over nothing: Luke owes it to him to hear him out over what he’s supposedly done now.

“What did I tell you about hurting him?” Jahon says, pushing Luke further back, his stance outwardly threatening.

Luke doesn’t really feel threatened, just confused. “That you’d kick my ass if I did,” he replies, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done something.” Jahon backs off, releasing the pressure on Luke’s throat. “He’s being all mopey. Unsettled. Something’s bothering him, even if he won’t tell me what it is. So fix it.” Jahon steps fully back, sweeping his eyes over Luke. “I haven’t got a clue what he sees in you, but he loves you. Don’t throw that away.”

Luke is halfway through formulating a response before he realises that he doesn’t owe Jahon one, and that Jahon is no longer standing in the hallway to hear it. He shakes his head, sweeping any thoughts of unworthiness away. This is not the moment to have a crisis like that.

He pushes open the doors to Wedge’s room, stepping in. The curtains are fully drawn back, and the morning sun is flooding into the room, illuminating it in a fierce glow. Wedge is sat on the sofa, looking uncertain but not – he’s not as bad as Luke feared he might be, given Jahon’s concern. Nothing like that time months ago, where Luke walked into a Wedge who’s eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were stained with tears.

Luke chooses to greet Wedge with a soft kiss, pushing as much emotion and affection into it as he can. This conversation, however it ends up going, is going to be intense and exhausting. He wants Wedge to have that small piece of comfort, of reassurance that Luke cares, regardless of how difficult things get.

And then Luke takes a seat on the other side of the sofa, far enough away that he and Wedge aren’t touching, but close enough that he can see Wedge, that he could reach out and touch if needs be. They need to talk face to face. Without getting distracted.

“So,” Luke starts, voice hesitant. As always, as soon as he’s got to a moment where he should be saying these things, his throat has closed up, and he doesn’t know how to get the words out.

“When do you have to leave?” Wedge asks.

What? Luke’s mouth turns down. Of all the things – he wasn’t prepared for this one. “I’m not,” he replies, a little relieved to have a question he can answer.

“Oh.” There’s relief in Wedge’s voice. “It’s just, I know you’ve been talking with Leia, and saying that we had to talk – I assumed it was because you had to go.”

There’s a hint of self-deprecation in Wedge’s tone that Luke doesn’t like. Luke’s had his own concerns about whether he might have to leave Wedge before he wants to, a knowledge that someday they might have to part – but this is… “I’m not leaving you,” Luke says, resisting the urge to reach out and hold Wedge close. “Wedge, you aren’t even back on your feet yet, I’m not leaving – Leia might hint, but she’d never ask me to leave you, not if it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“But you’ll…” Wedge is struggling with his words now, and Luke waits patiently. He needs to know what’s going on inside Wedge’s head. “Luke, you will have to leave some day. You will. There will be some crisis and you’ll leave and you should leave, because there’s so much good you can do out in the Galaxy, instead of staying here with me. Whatever we have isn’t going to last. It _can_ _’t._ ”

And there it is. Luke can’t help but sigh. Wedge has never been fatalistic, or suicidal, but he’s always been rather pessimistic about his worth – he’s just another soldier, one man sat behind the controls of an X-Wing, there’s nothing special about him, he’s just happened to be in a position to aid in several of the Rebellion’s greatest victories, and by some miracle of chance he also happened to survive them. Wedge sees himself as ordinary.

As far as Luke is concerned, nothing could be further from the truth.

“I’d come back,” Luke says, in a gasp, realising that he can’t argue that he won’t leave – they’re both too sensible to not know that some day Luke will have to leave. “I’d come back to you.” He repeats it, solidly and earnestly, watching how Wedge’s eyes widen in surprise. “Force, Wedge, don’t you know that I’d come back to you if you just _asked_ me too?”

There’s the problem. Neither of them has ever asked. Luke is complicit, he can’t lay the blame on Wedge – he walked away after Endor, threw himself into a hunt for long lost information about the Jedi. He was the one who changed. Wedge stayed the same. The onus should have been on Luke, and he didn’t say anything. He’s trying to change that now.

“No.” And as Luke probes Wedge’s feelings, reaching out unconsciously with the Force, he realises how true the statement is. Wedge has never truly believed that Luke would stay, even if he asked.

Kriffing hells, has Luke mucked his up that much that Wedge has no idea?

“Luke—” Wedge says, his voice fumbling and uncertain, hand clenching and unclenching over his knee. “You’re the last Jedi left in the Galaxy, and I’m just one pilot – I know you’re my friend and you care about me, but _how_ could I ask that of you?”

“I love you,” Luke blurts.

Wedge goes stock still.

“I’m in love with you,” Luke goes on, deciding to leave absolutely no room for ambiguity. “Wedge, I’m in love with you.”

Wedge blinks, attempting to take it in. His breathing is ragged, and he tries to even it out, taking a deep breath and holding it for a long moment. He opens his mouth, then reconsiders. A moment later, he says: “You—” He looks around the room, at anything but Luke. “You love me?”

Wedge sounds so _surprised._ “Yes,” Luke reassures. He knows he’s never said it, not in as many words, but he honestly thought Wedge knew – that Luke had conveyed at least some of what he felt with gentle touch and affection, in his devotion.

Apparently, it didn’t make it through.

Luke reaches over, tugging one of Wedge’s hands into his own, running his thumb over Wedge’s clenched white knuckles, trying to soothe his concerns away. He’s quietly reassured when Wedge’s fingers relax, and then curl softly into his own.

“Why… why _me_?” Wedge voices, still trying to grasp at the concept.

Luke bites back a comment about not having to answer that. Wedge wouldn’t ask if he didn’t genuine need the answer to the question. “Because I do,” he says, simply, because Luke isn’t sure that you can rationalise love. But he’s going to have to try, because he knows Wedge needs to hear it. “Wedge… you make me happy, do you know that? In the darkest days of the Rebellion, you were there, bringing a little bit of light into my life. You were always there, you _always_ had my back, but you were never afraid to call me on my shit if needs be. When I’m away from you, I miss you – yes, always,” Luke says, as he sees Wedge’s mouth open with a question. “Always. I’ve missed you without necessarily noticing it, but I can tell you looking back that there was an ache in my chest, a place in my heart and by my side where you should have been.”

Luke closes his eyes, tightening his fingers around Wedge’s, clinging on to their one point of contact. “When I picture the rest of my life, I know who I want to be in it beside me. You. I can’t imagine not having you, I want to have you, I want to have you there.” Luke’s aware that his words are strong, but if he’s learnt anything – they haven’t said enough. And none of the words he’s saying are untrue. “I love you. I think I’ll love you for the rest of my life. And if you want me to, I will.”

“I’ve loved you for years,” Wedge says, his voice rough with emotion. “I always thought it was a ridiculous feeling, that there was no way you could feel the same way, that I was a fool for falling in love with you, but I couldn’t damn help it.” Wedge leans over, brushing a strand of Luke’s hair out the way, and grazing his fingers across Luke’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful, and so good, and what could I ever offer you?”

“Everything,” Luke replies, catching Wedge’s hand and holding it where it’s softly cupping Luke’s jaw. “And anything. I love you,” he repeats. He suspects it’ll take a lot of repeating before Wedge truly believes him. “I’ll take anything you give me, Wedge.”

“I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?” Wedge gives Luke a bashful smile.

“I should have _said_ something.’ Luke knows he isn’t blameless in this. “I honestly thought you knew, or well, suspected. I _adore_ you. Please believe that.”

“It might take me some time.” Wedge brushes his thumb down the side of Luke’s jaw, then across to the corner of Luke’s mouth, and slides it slowly across Luke’s bottom lip, tantalisingly slow. Luke stares into Wedge’s dark eyes, watching as Wedge tracks his way over Luke’s face, his gaze dipping to the redness of Luke’s mouth. Unconsciously, Luke’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and ends up brushing the side of Wedge’s thumb.

Wedge draws back, shaking his head, and the trance they’d been in is broken.

“Loving each other is all well and good, but that doesn’t mean we can make this _work_. Love isn’t some magical-cure-all, that suddenly sets the Galaxy back to rights. From the sounds of it, it isn’t a lack of love that’s kept us apart all this time.”

“A lack of communication, maybe?” Luke offers up, trying to keep his tone light. “We can work on that.”

“Luke—” Wedge’s tone turns pleading, the man lowering his head into his hands. “Let's be realistic about all this, for just a moment. What chance do we have of building a life together?”

Luke moves himself down the sofa, placing himself at Wedge’s side, wrapping an arm around Wedge’s shoulders. He leans in close, planting a kiss to Wedge’s hair. “We have every chance, love, but only if we try. If you’re going to be defeatist about it, than of course we won’t have a chance.” Luke tangles his fingers in the soft strands of hair at the back of Wedge’s neck, scratching softly, hoping to soothe Wedge. “Wedge, darling, what are you going to do when the doctors finally give you a clean bill of health?”

“Go back to the Rogues.” Wedge’s answer is immediate. “Or— Fuck, if I can’t fly, I’ll probably still go back. I don’t know how to do anything else Luke. I’ve been with the Rebellion since I was nineteen. Before that, I did odd jobs for Booster. And—” Before that, Luke knows, he lived a quiet life with his parents, and dreamed of a normal life. That had gone up in flames.

“Okay. So you go back to the service, and I’ll go back to trying to find answers to my questions about the Jedi. You’ll get leave, I can co-ordinate my trips around that. We can holo. Plenty of people in the service have partners they leave at home, Wedge, we could do long-distance.” Wedge’s head turns up, his eyes wide and enquiring. “Let's face it, we aren’t ever going to be completely conventional. But there’s no reason we couldn’t get a house, make a home somewhere. You could ask for a planetary assignment rather than a ship one. The Rogues wouldn’t mind that, you know, I bet.”

“You think we could have a home together?”

“Well, Kes did accuse us of being concerningly domestic here, so I think we'd manage to make something of it.”

Wedge laughs, and Luke feels some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Yeah, he did say that, didn’t he?”

“See.” Luke places a kiss to Wedge’s temple. “That’s something resembling a plan. And, love, I know you might not want to think about it, but there are options open to you that don’t involve going back to the service.”

“Yeah.” Wedge lifts his head fully out of his hands, laying it to rest on Luke’s shoulder. “Luke, I know my days in the service are limited. If I keep going on like this there won’t be anything left of me but dust. But it's been my whole life. I’m not ready to let go of it quite yet. In a couple of years, maybe.” Wedge hums with a soft contentment. “Luke, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?”

“Besides spend it with you?” Wedge scoffs into Luke's neck and Luke feels his heart swell with soft affection and a certainty that his words are the truth. “I guess I’ll try and rebuild the Jedi. Maybe not back into an order, but preserve the knowledge, and try and pass it on. Maybe start a school?”

“You’d be a good teacher.” Wedge stretches his hand out, stroking across Luke’s thigh. “A school is a lot of work for one person, though.”

“Maybe by then, I’ll have found someone to help me.” Luke is sure he can’t be the only person left in the Galaxy who understands the Force. “You could…”

“What?”

“You could help me,” Luke says, though he’s uncertain if this particular invitation will be welcome. “You’re good at teaching. I’ve seen you. And you’re good with kids. You balance me out. If I’m going to teach about the Force, there’s a thousand other things those students will need to know, and you’re sensible and level-headed and exactly the sort of mentor they’ll need.” Luke turns his head to Wedge, who – once again – looks surprised. “It’s just a thought,” Luke mumbles. “I don’t know if anything will come of it.”

“No,” Wedge says. “I like it. You and me, running a school – it’ll be like old times, trying to tackle the Rogues into something resembling a squadron. We were good enough at that.”

“We were,” Luke agrees. His time heading up the Rogues, with Wedge by his side – those are some of his happiest memories, when life was easiest. “No reason why we couldn’t make good of it.”

“Yeah.”

Wedge is still again, and Luke feels another question that’s been needling at him crop up in his brain. There’s going to be no better time to ask it, he guesses. “Wedge? Do you want kids?”

Wedge lifts his head off Luke’s shoulder, looking up at him in surprise. His face speaks to an immediate denial, but he sees something genuine and sincere in Luke’s question. “Yes,” Wedge says. “Not immediately, but some day, yes, I’d like them.” He considers Luke carefully. “Do you want kids?”

Luke takes a deep breath. “Yeah. With you, yes.”

“Specifically with me?”

“Wedge…” Luke sighs. “You’d make such a good father.”

Wedge lifts his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t be so bad yourself.”

“No, it’s different—” Luke rakes a hand through his hair. “Do you know how you look, with a kid? It’s… You carry this burden, half the weight of the Galaxy on your shoulders half the time, unnecessarily, and then someone entrusts you with a child and that melts away. You look young. You look happy. Fatherhood looks good on you.”

Wedge’s mouth hangs open, slightly gob-smacked.

“It's attractive,” Luke admits. “Not that you need any help there, but it is what it is.”

“Good to know.” Wedge smiles, and Luke finally gives into the want in his chest and leans across and kisses him.

When Luke pulls away, Wedge’s hands are tangled in Luke’s hair, keeping him close. “I love you,” Luke says, resting his forehead against Wedge’s.

“I love you too,” Wedge responds, tilting his head up for another soft, gentle kiss.

Luke makes a low sound of appreciation, his hand tangling in Wedge’s shirt as Wedge’s kisses turn insistent. Wedge’s nails scrape bluntly across Luke’s scalp, and Luke tilts his head and opens his mouth, deepening the kiss. He runs a hand across the edge of Wedge’s shirt, fingers grazing against warm exposed skin.

They aren’t there yet – they can’t be, Wedge isn’t healed enough – but Wedge still moans low, and Luke slides his hand under the edge on Wedge’s trousers.

Wedge pulls away, breathing heavy.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Luke says, seeking once again to reassure. “I’m not going _anywhere_ , Wedge, I’m going to be here for you. We’ll get there, eventually.”

“I believe you.” Wedge looks at Luke, hazel eyes soft with affection, and Luke thinks that finally, Wedge might indeed trust that he’s going to stay.

.

“Well you look good.”

Luke looks up from his seat in the palace library to see his sister standing above him.

“Thanks, I think?” He pushes his work aside. “How are you, Leia?”

“Good.” Leia smiles at him as she sits. “How about you? And poor old Wedge?”

“I’m alright. And Wedge is coping admirably with everything, really. He came into Theed with me today – he’s at the big hospital having a whole battery of tests, poor guy. They want to see if they can get him back on his feet this week.”

“That’s excellent news. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can persuade you back to Republic functions before he’s walking?”

Out of anyone else, it might sound callous, but Luke knows that Leia doesn’t mean it maliciously. “I said I’d stay with him until he’s well. I promised that. I’m not leaving him, Leia.”

She smiles softly. “I didn’t think you would. So, are things between you—”

“I told him I’m in love with him.”

Leia raises her eyebrows. “Well, that’s a start.”

Luke scoffs. “I guess. So we’re… together? I love him and he loves me and we both – we both know that fact now, which is what has changed. I don’t think he knew. And we want a future, but goodness knows if we’ll manage to get one. I worry that I’ll put him in danger, just by loving him.”

“You know he doesn’t care about that.”

“Yeah. I’m gathering that.” Luke looks up and across at Leia. “Do you have anything for me?”

Leia retrieves a data-chip from the inside of her robe. “Here. I thought I’d bring it in person. I found it stashed away in my father’s files.” Luke loads the chip into his datapad. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this Maul thing. He terrorised Naboo. Then he terrorised Mandalore. And then there’s a note that he died on Tatooine, almost twenty years after the Siege of Mandalore.”

Luke flicks through the first file that comes up on screen. “He killed Qui-Gon Jinn. That’s significant. It meant that Anakin Skywalker’s training was left to a just graduated Padawan. And then there was…”

Luke pauses on a picture in the file, of a blonde woman with an intricate headdress.

“The Duchess of Mandalore,” Leia says, in a quiet voice. “Satine Kryze. My father used to speak of her fondly. She was missed, he said. She’d have been a valued voice in the Rebellion. Instead, it took them a long time to get the Mandalorians on side.”

“Maul killed her, didn’t he?”

“He did. But… the story is he killed her for control of Mandalore. After reading all this, I’m not so sure…” Leia sighs. “Obi Wan and Qui-Gon spent a year protecting her. The implication I’m gathering is that she and Obi Wan became entangled. But the mission ended and he went back to the order and she went back to service. Until the war threw them together again. I think that Maul killed her to get to Obi Wan.”

“That’s what worries me,” Luke admits. “Wedge… he’s in enough danger already, as a Starfighter pilot. I don’t want to put him in any more danger. Don’t you worry about Han?”

“Han’s already been a target to get to us. He’s made it quite clear that he loves us anyway,” Leia says. “My position… there’s a point in service, my mother used to say, where you had to realise that it meant that people would try and hurt you. But that you couldn’t let that fear stop you from doing anything. Because if you do, they’ve already won.” Leia reaches across for Luke’s hand. “You love Wedge. You’ve loved him for years, I know that. He makes you happy. That’s worth a lot. If you do anything so stupid as to ruin it, I will make your life a misery until you go and grovel and apologise to him and hope that he finds it inside himself to take you back.”

“Why is it that people always assume that I’ll break Wedge’s heart, rather than the other way round?”

“Because Wedge has quietly sat by and waited for you to realise that he was there all these years, and he doesn’t – Wedge doesn’t quit things. Neither do you, kriff—” Leia waves her hand as she attempts to explain. “I’m not saying that he wouldn’t. Or that he isn’t capable of it. But he’s more guarded; he wouldn’t have let you in if he wasn’t serious.”

“Leia—”

“You’re serious too, I get that, it’s just… I can’t explain it. But you _love_ him, I know you do. Just don't get caught up in everything else you have going on that you forget that.”

“Like the past couple of years?”

Leia sighs. “You should have been with him after he’d been injured on Akiva. We both know that. But what’s past is past, and you’re together now… So. But that proves my point. Wedge is capable of getting himself in enough trouble without you in his life. He’s capable of managing the risks.”

“And if an evil comes back?”

“You’d fight it. Better, with Wedge by your side – loving people isn’t a weakness. My father, he used to… the Jedi, that was their weakness. The greatest Jedi he knew were the ones who cared. The greatest Jedi he knew was Obi Wan, and I guess, looking at all this, no one could accuse Obi Wan of not loving anyone enough. He just lived in a time where he wasn't supposed to acknowledge it. I’m guessing it made him miserable. Don’t do that to yourself, brother.”

Leia hooks a finger under Luke’s chin, and forces him to look her straight in the eye. “I promise,” Luke says, buckling under Leia’s arch eyebrow. “Does that look work on Han? And is Ben wise to it yet?”

“Everything works on Han,” Leia says with a wicked smile. “And Ben’s still too young to know, really. You should pop by and see him some more. He likes you.”

“Yeah.”

“Bring Wedge with you. Speaking of, is there a chance that I’ll actually get to see him?”

“When does your shuttle leave?”

“Just after midday. So?”

“We’ll have to get moving then. Come on.”

.

Theed Hospital is bright and inviting, painted in warm yellows and reds. Luke takes Leia up to where he’d dropped Wedge off that morning, a suite of rooms on the third floor. Jahon’s hanging by the door, and Luke goes across to him.

“Where’s Wedge?” he asks quickly, as a scan of the room reveals he’s nowhere in sight.

“They’ve taken him for a couple more scans. He should be back shortly, if you wish to wait for him, ma’am?” Jahon looks across to Leia with a little bit of curiosity in his eyes.

“I think I can manage a few minutes,” Leia says, indulging Jahon with a smile. As they wait, Luke makes quick introductions.

After a couple of minutes, a doctor and a nurse wheel Wedge back in. He looks a little grumpy – but his face brightens when he sees Luke and Leia. “I’ll see if I can give you half an hour or so,” Jahon says, going to speak to the medical staff. “I think he looks in need of a break.”

Luke says a quiet thanks to Jahon – and for him, too, because he’s gotten very good at reading Wedge’s moods, and how far Wedge can be pushed. And Luke thinks he’s being generous here, in giving them some time, but he’s not going to complain.

“Wedge!” Leia’s smile is bright as she greets him, leaning down for a brief embrace. She cups his face in her hands, surveying him. “You look an awful lot better than your medical report suggests you have any right to be.” She kisses him on both cheeks, and Wedge tightens a hand round her waist to hold her close for another moment before releasing her.

“Thanks, I think?” He smiles gently at her. “I’ve had a bit of help, though.” Wedge’s gaze turns to Luke, his smile going affectionate. Luke beams back, and Wedge ducks his head, bashful and embarrassed.

“So I’ve heard,” Leia says, with a raised eyebrow. She guides Wedge over to a bench at the side of the room, sitting down on it herself so she’s level with Wedge. She leans across and takes his hand. “Congratulations. I’m really happy for you. It took you long enough.”

“Pot, kettle,” Wedge retorts.

“And as that may be so, I distinctly remember the words ‘I told you so’ come out your mouth at least once after Han and I got together.”

“Fine, fine. How have you been?” Wedge asks.

“Not so bad. Busy – we’re still trying to get the Senate really functioning, there’s a lot of back and forth. Han’s busy trying to make this racing thing go. And Ben’s fussing – teething, the poor thing. I’m sure he’d appreciate a visit from Uncles Luke and Wedge, when you two feel like it?”

“Uncle—?” Luke watches as Wedge’s mouth falls open in surprise, at the idea that Leia would count him as part of her family.

Leia laughs softly, shaking her head. “Kriff, look, Han – he’s been calling you Uncle Wedge when talking to Ben since, well, forever. Neither of us quite knew how you’d take it, so we didn’t mention it. But you’ve always been a part of our family, Wedge.” Leia reaches across and curls one of Wedge’s hands into her own. His eyes are still wide with slight disbelief. “You always will be, if you want it.”

Wedge looks across to Luke, eyebrows raised in a question. “Love, she’s right. And I’m counting on your help, so…”

“You’re better with him than Luke here,” Leia says. “So, whenever you want to visit, just say. Han and I would be happy to have you, regardless of whether you can wrangle my errant brother into coming with you.”

“Hey!” Luke interjects.

“Thanks Leia.” Wedge looks like he might be coming around to the idea.

“Anyway, how have you been? How’s recovery? And is Luke treating you alright?”

Luke drops to sit beside his sister, as Wedge plays along – spinning a farcical tale about what life is like reliant on Luke for his every need. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he espouses Luke’s failings – something about how Luke only brings biscuits for morning tea, not afternoon, and Leia treats it like the most heinous crime ever committed. Listening to Wedge talk, light-hearted, with Leia, Luke thinks how far they’ve come since day one.

In that moment, he believes that everything really will work out between them, and that – with people like Leia around to guide them – they’ll get their happy ending.

They spend twenty minutes like that, laughing softly amongst themselves, joking together, before Jahon has to interrupt and take Wedge off for more tests. Leia gives him another hug and a kiss on the cheek goodbye, and then Luke drops in for a kiss of his own – this one on the mouth. “I’ll see you later love,” he says, fingers entwining with Wedge’s and lingering as he draws them away.

“Later, Luke,” Wedge replies. “It was nice seeing you, Leia. Fair wishes on your journey.”

“Same to you,” Leia replies.

The siblings linger as Wedge is escorted off again. Once Leia is sure that he’s safely out of earshot, she elbows her brother sharply in the side. “Marry that boy,” she says, defiant and absolutely in her tone.

“Lei—”

“Marry him and adopt ten children, you kriffing idiot. You two are so gone on each other it’s nauseating.”

“Leia!!”

Leia turns to Luke, looking seriously. “You think I’m kidding. I’m not. You’re allowed to be happy, you know: he makes you happier than I think I’ve ever seen you, when you aren’t worried about how you’re going to fuck it up?”

“Leia, don’t you have a shuttle to be getting too?” Luke suggests. Leia checks her chrono.

“Yes, but my point still stands.” Leia makes a quick pace out of the hospital, and Luke, helpless, follows.

.

Wedge comes back from Theed Hospital cleared to start attempting to walk, with an actual qualified physical therapist in tow.

“The first trick is to get you standing,” she tells Wedge, back at Varykino, in a newly specialised room. “I know Jahon’s been working with you to reduce muscle atrophy, but you haven’t been weight-bearing in what, getting on five months? So we need to get you back used to that. From the looks of your most recent scans, and your previous history, it shouldn’t take us too long. We’ll have to build up your tolerances, but you’ll be walking before you know it.”

“She seems… chirpy?” Luke comments to Jahon, who’s officially overseeing the session. “I’m not convinced this is going to work.”

“Wedge picked her,” Jahon assures Luke. “And I know her work. She’s very good at her job, so, if you want the best for him…”

“… I’ll have to trust her, and trust him.” Luke nods. “I can work with that.”

“Mister Skywalker, can you come over here?”

Luke steps up, walking towards Wedge and the physical therapist. “You know, you can just call me Luke. I don’t mind.”

“Okay, Luke. I’m Varéna.” She beams a wide smile at him. “Jahon and Wedge were telling me that you’ve been instrumental to his recovery so far, and I’d like you to stay involved as we start to get Wedge back on his feet. I also don’t think you’d stay out of it even if I asked you too, so I’m going to make sure I teach you how to support him properly.”

Luke can’t help as his eyes widen in surprise. From his chair, Wedge is hiding a grin. “I’m willing to learn,” he replies. “Anything I can do to help, I’m happy to do.”

“For today, I think I just want you to observe. So, take a seat on the bench over there and pay attention – Jahon!” Varéna calls out, and Jahon joins the other three. “You can be my helper for today.

Jahon rolls his eyes and then rolls his sleeves up. Luke retreats to the bench that Varéna had signalled, and sits out the way. Varéna remains impossibly chirpy, but combined with Jahon’s deadpan, dry nature, it’s a pairing that works surprisingly well.

Varéna’s careful, too, showing all the different equipment to Wedge and using Jahon to demonstrate the correct use of it. It’s going to be a gradual process – the key component right now is a walking frame, that he’ll use to support his weight as he gets used to standing again. There are all sorts of other things – a set of parallel bars that will help with getting used to short walks, and half a dozen supports and sticks for when he can actually manage to stand for more than a couple of minutes.

“You want to give it a try?” Varéna asks, having spent a full hour demonstrating and explaining things.

Luke looks at Wedge’s face, and remembers when they first got Wedge into the chair – how reluctant he was, and how badly it went. But this time, he grits his face and smiles. “Let’s do it.”

Varéna grins back at him.

She moves the frame into position, checking that it’s steady against the floor. She positions Wedge’s hands on it, checking that his grip is strong and ready to support his weight – as his legs probably won’t, not for long. And then she instructs him to slowly – with his arms bearing most of the weight, at least temporarily – step to his feet, one foot on the floor and then the next, and then to lift himself out of his chair.

“Now, try and put more of your weight on your feet,” Varéna counsels, hovering close. “There, that’s it, you’re standing!”

Wedge looks delighted with the prospect. “I’m standing!” The relief he feels is palpable – there was a time when Luke had truly feared that they were never going to get to this point. But now they have. And it’s amazing. And if Wedge can stand… well, they’ll soon be on their way to him walking.

“Time,” Jahon says. He must have been counting. Varéna guides Wedge back into the chair.

“We’ll only do short bursts, at first. Give it ten minutes, we’ll try it again. You’ve got to build up to it, and it’s going to be sore. I’ve got a few things up my sleeve to combat that – there’s some handy massage techniques that might help.”

“Maybe you can teach some to Luke,” Wedge suggests.

“Are you complaining about the quality of my massages?” Luke’s joking; he knows exactly how much Wedge likes them.

Varéna flicks her eyes between them, smiling lightly at the banter. “I reckon I could teach him a thing or two. Yeah.”

.

The episode of _High Thrusters_ is over, the end credits playing. It was an interesting enough one – the presenters had been challenged to get from Tatooine to Naboo, having been dropped in Mos Espa with a limited number of cho-marr and their wits. Luke has some problems with it’s depiction of Tatooine as a complete lawless hellhole, but once they got away, things had been interesting enough.

Not for Wedge, though, who had drifted off on Luke’s shoulder mid-way through. Luke can hardly blame him though. It’s been a long day, with Varéna being relentless in her introduction to physical therapy. That’s a good thing, Luke thinks; it means that Wedge will be back on his feet sooner. But it’ll leave him wrung dry for a week or two, Luke suspects.

He tightens the grip he has around Wedge, and shakes his shoulder lightly. He might well be healed enough that they can cuddle on the sofa without much consequence, but if Wedge sleeps like this he’ll be in a hell of a lot of pain come morning – and Jahon will have Luke’s hide for letting him do it. “Wake up, love. It’s bedtime.” Luke chuckles at the backwards nature of it all.

Wedge stirs, grumbling softly. “Surely bedtime means sleep,” he mutters into Luke’s shoulder. “Why do I have to wake up?”

“Because this sofa is going to get really uncomfortable, and you should really sleep in the bed,” Luke says.

“You’re pretty damn comfy,” Wedge murmurs, settling his weight against Luke. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to move and Luke – well, it won’t kill them to sit here for another half an hour. So Luke wraps his arm around Wedge, threading fingers through Wedge’s fine hair, and just enjoys the moment of peace.

There is, however, something he’s been meaning to talk to Wedge about, and now seems as good a time as any to talk about it. “How much do you know about the fall of Mandalore?” Luke asks.

“Which one?” Wedge asks, in a disinterested tone. “There have been a few.”

“The one involving Duchess Satine. During the Clone Wars,” Luke clarifies, suddenly remembering that Duchess Satine had been involved in two events that could have been considered as falling under his description, depending on which side of Mandalorian history you fell.

Wedge lifts his head off Luke’s chest, looking up at him curiously. “I know a little bit. Not much, I’ll be honest – most of my Mandalorian history comes from Sabine, and she didn’t talk about that bit much. Mind you, I met the Duchess’s sister once – Bo-Katan Kryze.”

“You did?” Luke raises an eyebrow.

“In passing. I remember that she scared me witless,” Wedge replies. “Before your time with the Rebellion – this was a Phoenix Squadron shenanigan of some kind.”

“You got about, didn’t you?” Luke smiles as Wedge shrugs. There’s still bits of Wedge’s past with the Rebellion he’s unaware of, the result of just _how_ long Wedge served. “Anyway, back to the fall of Mandalore. There was an incident, some years before, that resulted in the young Duchess being put under the protection of the Jedi Order – and it was Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi who were entrusted with her care.”

“How many years before are we talking? It must have been before the siege of Naboo – how old were they? Teenagers?”

“Something like that,” Luke replies. “That incident isn’t really important only – the story goes that they fell in love. There. Or at least, there was something between them.”

“But at that time, the Jedi law of ‘no attachments’ was pretty strictly in place,” Wedge says. “Which was still bullshit.”

“We both know that.” Luke sighs, continuing with the story. “Mandalore stayed independent during the Clone Wars, though the Duchess was often involved with politics on both sides, and maintained her close relationship with Obi-Wan Kenobi. Until there was a coup. Orchestrated by Darth Maul.”

Wedge slips his hand into Luke’s, sensing that the story is about to become difficult. “Maul killed Satine. Supposedly for control of Mandalore, but… he could have done that at any time. He waited until Ben was there. He killed the woman he loved in front of him, just to prove that he could.” Luke ducks his head, fighting back his grief at the senselessness of it all.

“And?” Wedge’s voice is soft and questioning. “Is this supposed to be a cautionary tale?”

“She died, for love of him—”

“She might well have died anyway. That war was a senseless thing.” Wedge leans up, lifting Luke’s chin with a finger. “I love you,” he says, looking straight into Luke’s eyes. “I know that it’s going to make my life a little difficult. But … my feelings aren’t going away. If you think that Satine, Duchess of Mandalore, was a target solely because she happened to be favoured by Obi-Wan Kenobi…”

“I know,” Luke says, reaching to cup Wedge’s face, run a thumb over his cheekbone. “But I— I needed to tell you. Maul did kill her to taunt him. It could happen to you. I just need you to be aware of that fact.”

“I’m aware, Luke.” Wedge brushes a strand of hair behind Luke’s ear, and then freezes. “Sithspit. Maul. Phoenix Squadron. Of course – that’s where I heard the name. He was involved with Phoenix Squadron for a while.”

“Maul ran with the Rebellion?” Luke sits up straight, mouth wide open.

“No – Force, I think Syndulla might have had words to say about that. It wasn't friendly. But – I was just a kid, and no one was really interested in telling me much. You’d have to ask someone who was actually involved what went on.”

“I might just have to do that.” Luke ponders the thought. It’s a lead to chase at some point, certainly. Whether it goes anywhere… who knows. So he turns his attention back to Wedge, settling the other man against him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t want to scare you off. I love you, I just… I don’t want you to make a mistake in doing this.”

“Luke, how many time have I followed you into near certain death?” Wedge asks, voice light. “I think I know what I’m doing.” He leans over and kisses Luke, not giving Luke a chance to second guess himself.

He’s glad he told Wedge. And he’s equally glad that Wedge ignored his concerns, and is very glad indeed that Wedge is currently on top of him, kissing him, loving him, and letting none of it bother him.

.

Luke is jolted awake by _something_.

He’s not sure what, at first. He opens his eyes and it’s still dark. He can feel Wedge, warm alongside him. Everything seems fine. And then—

A whimper emerges from Wedge’s mouth, and Luke is almost sucked under in terror.

Wedge is _dreaming_ – and more than that. Nightmares. Night terrors, horrible fears of twisted and charred metal, fire burning, heat, explosions.

“Wedge, love, _wake up_ ,” Luke says, rolling back to Wedge’s side. “Wake up, you’re dreaming, you’re safe.” Luke places a kiss to Wedge’s cheek; the tip of his nose; his chin; the corner of his mouth. Anything to try and bring him out of this gently.

Wedge is shaking, and that’s not good. He’s alternating between moments of tenseness, and then these full body shakes that leave Luke very concerned about the damage he could be doing to his mostly healed injuries.

“Please, love, wake up.” Luke runs a reassuring hand down Wedge’s arm. “You’re having a nightmare, you aren’t there, come back to me.” He speaks affectionately, but firmly. Pressing his forehead against Wedge’s, he whispers; “I love you,” onto Wedge’s mouth.

Wedge wakes.

His eyes go wide, realisation flooding his sense, and he draws back from Luke for a moment – and then he realises where he is, and falls into Luke’s arms.

Luke holds him tight. Rubs soothing circles into his back, and places soft kisses onto his hair. “It was a dream,” he mutters, as Wedge’s fists curl tight into the material of Luke’s sleep shirt. “It was just a dream, my love, nothing more.”

“No, it was—” Wedge takes a while to search for the words. “The crash.”

They haven’t talked about the crash.

Kalonia had put a prohibition on it, all that time ago, fearing for Wedge’s fragile mental state, and on Naboo; Luke hesitated to bring it up. He wasn’t even sure that Wedge remembered it. Luke had talked to Tycho about it, late one night, when Tycho had confided in Luke how utterly afraid he’d been when he’d seen Wedge’s body lying prone in a broken cockpit. Luke’s read the incident report: the entire thing was unspeakingly ugly. Luke’s crashed his ship a couple of times himself, and it’s never been a pleasant experience.

“I remember the crash. I remember…”

Luke presses a kiss to Wedge’s forehead. “Love, don’t press yourself. You don’t need to say anything. But if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

Wedge ducks his head back down to rest on Luke’s chest. Against his breastbone, Luke can feel the soft warmth of his breath, and a gentle hum as he rolls the words over in his throat. “I’m okay. I think. I just… it was real. I was there, I’d swear it.”

Stroking a hand down Wedge’s spine, Luke asks; “Have you been having nightmares? Or is this the first?”

If Wedge was having them regularly, Luke is sure he would have noticed. But there’s always a chance that one might have slipped his notice. Luke doesn’t share the bed every moment of the day where Wedge is asleep. Wedge’s sleep pattern has also been slightly erratic, especially of late, as Varéna’s physical therapy routine reawakens long dormant limbs and is providing no small amount of stress.

“The first… I think,” Wedge mutters, but he’s hardly certain about the fact. “I didn’t think I remembered any of the accident.”

“Sometimes these things take a while to come back to us,” Luke says. “There’s an incident report, if you really want to know the details, but I wouldn’t advise you read it. What happened then is in the past. You’re on the mend now, so don’t worry about it too much.”

Wedge wraps his arms close around Luke, and Luke brings a hand up to softly comb through Wedge’s hair, soothing him softly. “Just stay with me?” Wedge asks, voice quiet.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

.

Day by day, Wedge starts to build his strength back up.

It’s agonisingly slow. Luke watches him. First, he’s able to stand for about thirty seconds, supported by braces and a walker and putting most of his weight on his arms, before collapsing back into his chair. Varéna, far less chipper in practice than she was when Luke first met her, gently coaxes Wedge back up again.

She’s good with him, Luke can admit that. He gives Wedge a wide berth in the first couple of days, knowing how stressful his first moments in the chair were. Wedge drops asleep exhausted in Luke’s arms after most physical therapy sessions, anyway – they’re exhausting. Physically and mentally. For a week, it seems to Luke that all the progress they’ve made over the past months has vanished. Wedge is reduced back to a trembling, tired thing, who can barely move, and spends more time asleep than he does awake.

And then it all starts to come together.

Under Varéna’s watchful eye, Wedge builds up the amount of time he can stay standing. It goes up to a minute, then five, then ten – albeit on shaky legs. But even there, Wedge is growing stronger, limbs readjusting after months of disuse. He manages to stand straight, legs stable underneath him – though he’s still heavily reliant on support of some kind. The back of a chair, a walking frame, Luke. “Hurts like a bitch, though,” he comments, when Luke commends him on his progress.

“If it didn’t, I’d be worried,” Varéna says, kneeling to adjust Wedge’s stance. She tweaks it so that it’s a little wider, his weight more evenly distributed, then moves her hands to firmly massage one of Wedge’s calves. “That would indicate that you’d still got nerve damage in your back, and no one wants that.”

“I do still have nerve damage in my back,” Wedge points out. “Not severe, but enough.”

There are some wounds that never quite heal, they’ve always known that. Jahon’s extrapolation of the doctor’s opinion is that it shouldn’t affect Wedge too much – only when he overexerts himself – as long as he doesn’t do any more damage to it. He’ll spend the rest of his life having to be aware of it, but day-to-day Wedge should be able to live with it.

“Worry about that once we’ve got you moving.” Varéna stands up, eyes flicking to a bar about a metre away from where Wedge currently stands. “Okay, down, that’s enough on those legs for a moment.” Wedge sits down on the bench that’s just behind him, sighing softly. “Luke, get over there.” She gestures to the mark she was looking at, only a moment ago. Luke steps into position, having learnt not to question Varéna’s instructions. “Next time you stand up, Wedge, I want you to step over towards Luke. Alright? You can use any form of support you want, but I want you to get moving.”

A grimace crosses Wedge’s face, his eyes tightening in the anticipation of the pain that will accompany not just standing, but weight-bearing movement. His hands grip the bench he’s sitting on, knuckles white. “Alright,” he says, but it’s anything but.

It has to be done. If not this day, than another. And there isn’t much sense in putting it off. He trusts Varéna. If she says he’s ready, than Wedge believes it.

He stays sat down for another fifteen minutes, recovering, letting his muscles get a little of their strength back. Then he asks Varéna for a crutch. The walking frame is ungainly, and Wedge can see that Varéna’s intentions here are to only get him to take a single step – the psychological victory is going to be larger than the distance actually travelled. All Wedge has to do is reach Luke.

Wedge stands up gingerly. He takes a moment to get used to the balance of his weight against the crutch, how much he can bear on his good leg, how much he can bear on his bad one; whether he can rely on the strength of his arm to keep him upright. He probably can’t, but that means he has to go forward. Luke is waiting, a metre away – one long step, or two smaller ones. It’s a tiny distance, but it seems almost insurmountable, a chasm that expands and separates them.

He’s done this before, he reminds himself. Taking a deep breath, he thinks back. At nineteen he’d been raring to go, shuffling about in his cast from the moment the medics had given him clearance. When that had come off, there’d been some trepidation, walking without support, but he’d been young and determined and there had been the promise of getting back to the war, back into an X-Wing. After Akiva, he’d been handed a cane and a kindly nurse had aided him back on his feet.

He’d not spent months bed-ridden in either of those cases, but… he still did it.

So he has to do it now.

Another deep breath. Just to steady him. And then he looks up, meeting Luke’s brilliant blue eyes. Luke’s face is warm and welcoming, quietly waiting for Wedge to step towards him.

Crutch out. Steadied midway between Wedge and Luke. Weight on it, he swings his good leg forward as quick as he can, avoiding keeping the weight on his bad one. A spike of pain goes through his left leg, and Wedge knows it shows on his face. But he doesn’t think about it. Just plants his good leg on the ground, solid as he can, and leaning his weight into the crutch, he brings his bad leg forward. One step.

He ignores the congratulations that Luke and Varéna offer. There’s still another bit to go. Crutch forward again. His shoulder hurts – half merely with the tension that comes with his immense concentration. Good leg. And there’s another spasm of pain – his bad leg has a long way to go before it’s fully able to bear his weight without complaint. A moment to breathe. And then, bad leg dragged forward, bringing his feet together, almost toe-to-toe with Luke’s.

A hand on Wedge’s elbow. “You did it, love.” Wedge falls into a waiting grasp, as his legs crumple away underneath him, exerted beyond their ability – at least for the time being. Luke catches Wedge with ease, bearing his weight like it is nothing. A thumb rubs reassuring circles into the crook of Wedge’s elbow. “Well done.” A kiss placed softly on the top of Wedge’s head.

Wedge hears the scuffing of a bench dragged along the floor, and falls back onto it, just as Varéna gets it underneath him. “Good job,” she says, looking over him. “Tomorrow, we go again. For now, Rest.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a certain number of X-Wing pilots come to visit (and in which the author is tired and does not have time to re-read this chapter and remember what I've wrote for a full summary, but I'm pretty certain that and other things happen in this chapter :D)

From the table where he’s attempting to get on with some work, Luke watches as Wedge grimaces on the couch. His face is pulled into something tremendously uncomfortable, twitching his shoulders as he attempts to settle.

“Aching muscles?” Luke asks. He saves the report he’s working on for Leia, advice for the Senate’s latest moves into the Outer Rim – though he’s still not quite sure why she’s asked _him_ for advice. He’s decided to humour her in this instance.

“Learning how to walk again is a bitch,” Wedge grumbles. He leans over and rubs his thumbs around one of his knees. “I’m twenty-eight, this is awful.”

Luke walks up behind Wedge, leaning over to place a kiss to Wedge’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you in that tub. Hot water does miracles, you know that.”

“With you?”

Luke laughs fondly. “Well, first, I’m still not entirely sure it would be the safest thing to leave you there unaided. You still have difficulties. And second, I’m not immune to the thought of you naked beside me, love, so… yes, I’ll come with you.”

Wedge turns his head to place a kiss at Luke’s jaw. “Good. I like the sound of that.”

“Let me go and get the tub filling, and we can get started.” Luke tousles Wedge’s hair as he walks away to go and do just that.

When he returns, Wedge has already wrestled himself out of his jumper and shirt, and has loosened the fastening on his trousers as well. “Someone’s getting ahead of themselves,” Luke comments.

Wedge raises his eyebrows. “Says the man wearing just his underwear!”

Luke can’t argue with that. He’d stripped down whilst sorting out the bath. “I figured it would be expedient.”

“Hey, no complaints from me. You look _fine._ ” Wedge smirks in a self satisfied way, raking his eyes all over Luke’s body. He lingers on the firm curve of Luke’s shoulders, before dropping to the planes of Luke’s stomach, flat and defined, evidence of the strong inner core his Jedi work outs have brought him, and then to the just visible line of the creased v that drops into Luke’s underwear. “Now, help me out my trousers.”

Luke obliges him, even with a scoff. “You know, I think you’ve got to the point where you could actually get these off yourself. In fact, I know you can,” he says, as he slips them down Wedge’s thighs.

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” Wedge’s trousers disposed of, Wedge pulls Luke up for a kiss. Careful of where his weight goes – he manages to get a knee in-between Wedge’s legs that bears most of his weight – Luke kisses back, letting Wedge be as handsy as he wants for a moment.

“Love,” Luke says, breaking the kiss. “I left the water running. Come on, let's move.” Luke pulls himself off Wedge, and stands up. “Now, the chair, or—”

Luke doesn’t bother finishing the question. Wedge’s look is obvious enough. Luke shakes his head, and picks Wedge up with long accustomed ease. “Am I still going to be doing this even when you’re back on your feet?” he asks, jokingly.

“I mean, if you don’t want too—”

Luke holds Wedge close. “I just think it’s amusing how much you like it.” Wedge nuzzles against Luke, head in the crook of Luke’s neck. Luke sets him down beside the recessed corner in the ridiculously extravagant bathroom, the one that’s currently filling with water. He kneels down to check the temperature. It’s hot, but not scalding, and Luke lifts his hand out through a layer of bubbles that are building on the water’s surface.

“We good?” Wedge asks.

“Think so,” Luke answers. Absentmindedly, he flicks a little bit of water at Wedge, who laughs. He means to go to Wedge to help him get out of his underwear, but Wedge is already shimmying out of them – further proving Luke’s point that he was totally capable of getting out of his trousers on his own – and then shuffling, weight on hands, to lower himself into the bath.

Wedge sighs as his limbs make contact with warm, soothing water. Then he turns to Luke. “Come on, Luke, the water’s fine.”

Luke wastes no time in joining him, sitting down beside Wedge, and stretching his legs out. The water comes up to his shoulders, and there’s plenty of room for both of them. “I’ll say this,” Luke says. “The Naboo really do know how to do baths.”

Wedge laughs. “If even the boy from Tatooine is a convert, then you must be doing something right.” He leans a little into Luke, and Luke shuffles closer, so that Wedge can rest his head on Luke’s shoulder. “I like it though. And you’re right, I already feel better.”

Luke wraps his arm around Wedge’s shoulder, threading a damp hand through Wedge’s hair. Wedge is effectively plastered against him, bodies slick against each other. It’s a nice feeling. “I’m glad.”

Wedge places a soft, open kiss to Luke’s shoulder, and hums softly in contentment. Luke lets him sit there for a while, just enjoying the weight of Wedge at his side, the warmth of the water. But they can’t just sit there forever, much as Luke might like to. He pushes Wedge’s head off his shoulder, and moves for a bar of soap. When he returns, he kneels between Wedge’s legs, looking straight at him.

“The entire point of a bath is to get clean,” Luke says, as Wedge gives him a dubious look.

“I thought the entire point of _this_ bath was to soothe my aching muscles and be naked together?”

“Do you _not_ want my hands all over you?” Luke asks, lathering them up with soap.

Wedge grins. “Nowhere did I say that, love.” He leans up and steals a quick kiss, hands moving up to roam Luke’s sides, fingers stroking over the edge of Luke’s ribs. Luke sighs. Wedge has always been handsy when he felt like it, and Luke… well, he's hardly going to dissuade Wedge from doing it. It just makes his job a little harder. But he manages to drag soap over most of the parts of Wedge’s skin, before he ends up utterly distracted by Wedge, who’s littering soft kisses over Luke’s jaw and neck.

Wedge manages to grab the soap off Luke – how Luke isn’t quite sure, but there’s a hand on his hip and lips on his and that’s distracting enough. Wedge embarks on a similar campaign, dragging soap all over Luke, under pretences of cleaning but, Luke is sure, just an excuse to touch him as many places as possible.

And even the pretence is abandoned when Wedge drops the soap in favour of grabbing Luke’s cock, already hard – Luke isn’t a saint, and he’s got Wedge pressed against him and roaming hands and it’s difficult for some of his thoughts not to drift in that direction – and gives it a quick couple of strokes. Luke groans. “Love—” he manages to get out, trying to disentangle himself from Wedge’s embrace. “I’m fairly certain that sex was off the menu.”

“Please explain to me what part of _me getting injured_ prevents me from giving you a handjob?”

“The part where I would like to be able to reciprocate, and as much as you might like to argue that you’re healed enough for handjobs – and that I’d like to believe it – I’m not doing it before consulting a medical professional?”

“Should I call Jahon?”

Wedge looks just serious enough to do it. “You could, but I fear it would kill the romance,” Luke says.

“I know we aren’t good at the whole romance thing, but this wasn’t feeling terribly romantic even before I dropped my nurse’s name into the conversation.”

Wedge has a point. This is nice, and soft and affectionate, but there’s no tension in the air – not like the first time Luke bathed Wedge, where the tension was so thick he could have drowned in it. “I can fix that,” Luke says, leaning into kiss Wedge.

Wedge opens his mouth, letting Luke slide his tongue in to run it softly over the roof of Wedge’s mouth. He gasps softly as Luke winds his fingers into Wedge’s hair, pulling him closer. In that moment, his works has narrowed to the taste of Wedge, the slip-slide of Wedge’s hand against his inner thigh, and the warmth of the water that surrounds and connects them both.

“I love you,” Luke says, into Wedge’s mouth, before drawing back enough that his next words will definitely be intelligible. “I can wait. It doesn’t bother me, Wedge, so have just a little patience, and if you are cleared then I will be happy to oblige you. Fuck, that… I love you. I want this, don’t think I don’t, I just also would like to not cause you any pain in doing so. So, ask, and we can work from there. Until then… I’m quite content kissing you.” He kisses Wedge quickly, just to punctuate his point. “And when we get out this tub, I’ll give you a massage. Soothe some of those aching limbs, hey?”

“I like the sound of that.”

.

They stay in the tub until the water goes cold, kissing and touching all the while. Luke’s the one to pull himself out of it first, and sets the tub to drain, as he goes and fetches towels for himself and for Wedge. Bundling one around Wedge’s shoulders, he leans in with another to dry Wedge’s legs, then lifts Wedge up and out the tub and takes him back to the bed.

“Come on, join me,” Wedge says, sitting on top of one of the towels on the bed, leaning back against a large pile of pillows.

“Give me a sec.” Luke tosses his towel over his hair, scrubbing his hair as dry as he can get it. He briefly considers putting some clothes back on, but he knows Wedge would argue. And besides, there’s little use pretending that the massage isn’t a stand-in for the sex that they can’t yet have. So he dumps the towel on the floor and joins Wedge, who gives a self-satisfied grin.

“That’s more like it,” Wedge says.

Luke shakes his head as he draws one of Wedge’s legs into his lap, running his hands up Wedge’s calf and feeling the strain of the muscles underneath. “You’re incorrigible,” he says, settling in with firm strokes of his hands across Wedge’s aching legs.

“Probably. Also, just a little bored,” Wedge admits. “Physical therapy is gruelling, and yeah that occupies my mind a lot of the time. But I’m not quite as ill as I once was, and you’ve still got your insistence that I don’t touch anything resembling work, and I’ve run through quite a lot of the contents of Naboo’s libraries at this point. Forgive me for getting distracted, but my thoughts do often get filled with you.”

“Hmm?”

“Luke, you’ve been the stuff of my fantasies for years, don’t pretend it’s a surprise.”

Luke focuses his hands on the stiffness in Wedge’s right knee. “I was thinking more about you being bored. That’s not a good thing. Though I don’t want you back at anything resembling work anytime soon.”

“We’ve been at this for what, six months? It was going to happen. I don’t begrudge it. I’ve just had a lot of time to think about stuff.” Wedge sighs a little. “And yeah, I’ve had a lot of time to catch up on all the holoprogrammes I’ve missed over the last five years.”

“You been thinking about anything in particular?” Luke asks.

“What I want, I guess. You. What I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Starfighter tactics, sometimes,” he admits, bashfully. “Which yeah, is work, but it’s also instinct. It’s what I’ve known all my adult life.”

“You always have worked too hard, love.” Luke switches legs, leaning over to grab Wedge’s left foot. “But I guess I can't really blame you. But if you could manage to keep your mind off Starfighter Tactics, that would be great.”

“That probably means I’ll spend all my time thinking about you, you realise that?”

Luke looks up. Wedge is leaning casually against the cushions, looking relaxed, and Luke is struck by how much he adores him. “I don’t mind. If you can keep yourself under control.” He flicks a finger at Wedge’s leg. “You’re still not walking yet. Start doing that, and we’ll need to have an actual conversation about what we do next.”

“Hey, I managed five steps today!”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Five steps is a vast achievement compared to where you were, but I’m not sure I’d count it as walking.”

“What do you count?”

“Get all the way across the balcony by yourself, and we’ll talk.”

“Okay. That’s a promise.” Wedge smiles. “Doesn’t sound too difficult.”

Luke holds back another scoff. Wedge’s eyes are dark and twinkling with mischief, and Luke can’t help himself but lean up and kiss him again, for the umpteenth time that evening. “How many promises do we owe each other now,” Luke asks, stroking his thumb over Wedge’s chin.

“A lot,” Wedge says, tipping his mouth up to claim another kiss. “I’m holding you to every single one, just to let you know.”

“I expect nothing less.” Luke wants to keep every promise; every time he’s said he’ll stay by Wedge’s side, every time he’s said that he’ll love Wedge for the rest of his life. He means them. “Love, turn over, lie on your front.” Luke guides Wedge over with his hands, then lies down beside Wedge.

Wedge braces himself on his elbows, turning his head towards Luke. “More?” he asks, a little bit of a plea entering his voice.

“Give me half a chance, love.” Luke reaches down into his senses to pick out the worst of the tension in Wedge’s back, before focusing his hands down on it. His hands move firmly over Wedge’s back, pushing upwards with his palms towards Wedge’s shoulders, easing the tension that is there. “How’s that?” He leans down to place a soft kiss on Wedge’s shoulder, before continuing with the massage.

Wedge hums with contentedness, encouraging Luke on. “Feels good, love.” He arches his back slightly up into Luke’s touch, and Luke has to ease him back into a resting position.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Luke says, focusing his hands into the small of Wedge’s back, lightly stroking until Wedge is a pile of goo on the bed, limbs completely slack. “That’s better.” Luke lays down besides Wedge, one hand continuing to stroke lightly over Wedge’s back. He nuzzles close, until Wedge turns his head to kiss him softly.

“I love you,” Wedge says.

“Good, because I love you too,” Luke replies.

.

The sun is beating an early morning warmth down on the lake at the edge of Varykino. Sunbeams dance off the lake, reflecting up into the gaze of the two men who are standing on the balcony.

Not that they are paying it that much mind. They are too focused on each other. Wedge has an iron clad grip on Luke’s shoulders, using him to prop himself up. His chair is behind him, ready to catch him when he collapses.

With any luck, that won’t happen. Luke’s hands hold steady on Wedge’s waist, helping to keep him upright. Aside from Luke, Wedge doesn’t have any supports on at all – he’s technically standing unaided, according to Varéna.

(Luke isn’t entirely sure he’d still be on his feet if he wasn’t standing there, but that’s another matter.)

“You alright there?” Luke asks. He’s prepared to take this at Wedge’s pace. They’ve been advised to get out of the physical therapy room – Wedge’s progress has slowed to a winding halt in the last couple of days. So, here Luke is, attempting to encourage him into more.

Wedge takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I think so. Is it odd that standing is still weird?”

“You’ve only been at it for a couple of weeks, and you’ve been non-weight bearing for almost half a year. So… not really?” Luke smiles at him.

“Thanks.” Wedge takes another deep breath, then slides his hands down so that his arms are resting on Luke’s forearms and his hands are gripped tight around the bend of Luke’s elbow. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

Luke removes his own hands from Wedge’s waist, guiding them to rest under Wedge’s elbows instead, a light touch of comfort and support. He takes a single step backwards, inviting Wedge to step forward into the space. It takes Wedge a moment, but he manages to put one shaky foot forward.

Slowly, Luke steps backward across the balcony, and Wedge walks with him, shaky step after shaky step. He counts them in his head – three, then five, then eight, then into double figures. More steps than he’s ever taken at once. Luke stops when they hit fifteen, not wanting to push Wedge too much.

Wedge doesn’t seem to notice. He walks straight into Luke, coming chest to chest and nose to nose. “Oops,” Wedge says, voice light with the faintest hint of laughter. He tilts his head and leans straight in for a kiss.

“That was fifteen steps, love,” Luke says, smiling softly at how close Wedge is, still holding tight. He’s not supporting much of Wedge’s weight, though – which is in contrast to how it sometimes goes, where he’ll struggle through his allotted steps only to collapse straight into the waiting arms of whoever is there to support him.

“Really?” Wedge sounds surprised.

“You made it most of the way across the balcony,” Luke points out. Wedge turns his head and sees the distance he’s managed to come, and then sags against Luke. Luke, ready for it, catches the weight. “Well done.”

“Am I walking yet, then?” Wedge’s voice is muffled against Luke’s shirt.

“I thought we decided that was when you could make it all the way across the balcony by yourself,” Luke points out. “Which you are well on your way to, but you’re not quite there yet.”

“Okay, give me a moment, and we’ll go back.” Wedge leans on Luke, who holds him close and supports him, until Wedge lifts his head up and says, “Ready.”

Luke manages to get them turned around – he’s not making Wedge attempt to walk backwards, not quite yet – and then sets off at a similar slow pace, back across the balcony. He keeps counting steps, as before, but doesn’t stop, even when Wedge beats his previous total. Just walks, stroking his fingers under Wedge’s elbows in reassuring encouragement, and watches as Wedge concentrates on moving one foot in front of the other.

They hit thirty before Wedge shakes his head, and comes to a grinding halt. Luke steps back guiding Wedge’s arms up around his shoulders, catching him with his arms around Wedge’s midsection. “You’re doing amazingly,” Luke reassures him, as he feels Wedge wobbling against him. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Wedge buries his head in Luke’s shoulder, and Luke just holds him, supporting as much of Wedge’s weight as he can manage.

Eventually, Wedge lifts his head again. “How far is it back to the chair?”

Luke looks. “A handful of steps? Five or so? Do you think you can manage it?”

“I think so.” Another deep breath. “Okay, can you guide me back?”

Luke smiles. “Of course.” He turns Wedge, and gently guides him the number of steps needed to get him back to the chair, and then turns him so that Wedge can sit back down in it. Wedge breathes a welcome sigh of relief when he’s back in the chair.

“You’re getting there,” Luke says.

“I know, I just—” Wedge sighs. “It’s exhausting. And slow. And I just want to be able to walk, again, at this point.”

“You will,” Luke says, reaching for one of Wedge’s hands. He brings it up to his lips, and brushes a kiss across Wedge’s knuckles. He holds Wedge’s hand there, in a moment of soft affection.

Then Varéna comes through the balcony doors. “Sorry,” she swiftly apologises, before heading straight across to the balcony, and spreads her gaze wide.

“Varéna, what’s up?” Luke asks. The physical therapist is nowhere near as stealthy as Jahon, who seems to melt clean away into the background when not needed, but she’s rarely this intrusive.

“Madame Eirtaé says to look—” Varéna gasps. “See, there!” She points out a looming speck on the horizon.

Luke pushes Wedge’s chair to the edge of the balcony, next to Varéna, and follows her line of sight. The speck resolves into something bigger, rushing towards them. “Is that—?”

“X-Wings,” Wedge says, gasping in delight. The ships race towards them, distinct in profile, s-foils sticking out at a right angle to the cockpits. “Rogue Squadron X-Wings.”

The ships rush over the house, and Wedge cranes his neck up, counting the ships and their markings.

“Eirtaé’s given them clearance to land in the field over from the house,” Varéna explains. “But I thought you might want to see them coming in.”

“Thanks, Varéna,” Luke says. “Wedge, who—”

“Tycho, Wes, Hobbie and Plourr.” Wedge trips over the names in his excitement. He’d know those markings anywhere. “Unless others are flying their X-Wings. But I don’t think they are.”

Luke looks at Wedge, who’s wearing a wide grin. “You wanna go meet them, then?”

“Do you want to hear Wes’s complaints when we aren’t there to greet them?” Wedge spins his chair around. “Come on, come on.”

.

Eirtaé is waiting for them by the door out of Varykino, and guides Wedge and Luke to the field where the X-Wings are setting down. The three of them stand well back at the edge of the field as they wait for the ships to finally come into land. They make an elegant show of it, circling above their heads before descending. And once they’ve settled, and the engines have quieted, there is the agonishing moment as they wait for the pilots to emerge.

“Yo, Wedge! Bossman! Over here!” Wes is the first one to pop his canopy, and shouts across to them in a cheery manner, as if Wedge hasn’t already turned to look in his direction. Wedge and Luke wave back, Wedge itching to go across and greet them but waiting patiently for the rest of them.

“So…” Eirtaé whispers conspiratorially to Luke.

“That’s Wes,” Luke clarifies. Whilst Eirtaé is usually on the facts in moments, the Rogue’s quick entrance may have left her flummoxed for once. “Hobbie’s dour and blonde, Tycho’s aristocratic and blonde. And Plourr is…”

“I have been fully briefed on Isplourrdacartha Estillo,” Eirtaé replies. Luke decides not to question the lengthy hash she’s made of Plourr’s name. “I think I will be able to identify her.”

Luke grins. That’s certainly true. He turns his attention back to his pilots – Wedge’s pilots – as the others pop their canopies and clamber out of them. They wander across their s-foils, and drop to the ground in practised jumps, the easiest way to dismount an X-Wing if one doesn’t have a ground crew to hand.

“He’s alive.” Plourr elbows Hobbie sharply for the deadpan comment, the three of them hanging back to let Tycho approach first. Luke swears she whispers sharply to Wes and Hobbie – and he swears she says _behave_.

But Wedge is tugging at Luke’s arm, distracting his attention. Tycho is rapidly approaching, and Luke recognises Wedge’s signal. He helps pull Wedge to his feet, holding on to him as Wedge steps forward and away from the chair.

“He’s standing!” Wes says, in an excitable tone. But no one’s paying attention him a scrap of attention. Luke’s attention is on Tycho, who’s walking towards Wedge with a complicated expression on his face. It’s difficult to tell if he’s surprised, or happy, or just worried. Luke stays close to Wedge, supporting him.

Tycho comes to a stop, fairly close to Wedge. “Wedge,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “You’re—” His face breaks into relief.

“Tych—” Wedge pushes away from Luke, taking a small step towards Tycho, who pulls him into a close embrace.

Luke takes a step back. Tycho won’t let Wedge fall, not ever. They’ve always been good partners, good friends, ever since they built Rogue Squadron up, and their partnership has only deepened now that they’re the leaders. And back when Wedge was injured, when they didn’t know whether Wedge was going to make it or not – Tycho had been more worried than anyone. He’d been there for Wedge when Luke hadn’t been. He’s Wedge’s best friend, and it’ll be good to have him here for a bit.

Hobbie and Wes come up on either side of Luke, and Wes claps an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “Hey, ex-boss, how are things going?”

Beyond Wedge and Tycho, Luke can see Eirtaé having gone to greet Plourr. Eirtaé’s head is dipped into a low bow, and her protocol appears to be that of which Luke is fairly certain is reserved for royalty. That confuses him a little, but he shrugs it off to turn back to Hobbie and Wes. “Pretty well,” Luke says.

“Wedge is up and walking so it can’t be going _too_ badly,” Hobbie says.

“And the two of you have had all this time alone together…” Wes waggles his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Luke laughs. “You’ll never change, will you Wes? What brings you all here.”

“We were in the neighbourhood,” Tycho says, looking over. His arm is around Wedge, half supportive, half just clutching Wedge for dear life in utter delight that he’s alive and up and walking. But Wedge is sagging against him, so Tycho asks: “Wedge, do you need to sit back down?”

“Wouldn’t go amiss,” Wedge says, leaning further into Tycho. He makes a gesture towards Luke, which results in Luke bringing the chair over, carefully detangling Wedge from Tycho and helping him back into the chair. “Tych, by in the neighbourhood—”

“We were a couple of systems over, and due some leave. Plourr got us in with the palace, and we figured we’d surprise you.” Tycho says it in a tone that leaves no room for argument, though Luke rather doubts quite how legit and easy he’s made it sound. But it’s a good thing for Wedge, so he doesn’t question it.

“We’re surprised,” Luke replies.

“We figured,” Wes butts in.

“You’ve got us for a week, maybe a little more, providing nothing goes amiss. Hope you don’t mind.” Tycho shrugs.

“We’d be glad to have you,” Luke says.

“You two are probably sick of each other at this point,” Hobbie comments.

Luke and Wedge share a brief look – it’s been six months and they aren’t. Despite not exchanging a word, Wes catches it anyway. “Ha. Okay. The pair of you are telling us everything. With exact timings. There’s a very large betting pool to settle. Also, I want to see Kettch. Check that you haven’t been mistreating him or anything!” He throws an arm around Luke’s shoulders, and another around the back of Wedge’s chair, and pushes them both towards the house.

Tycho sighs, a thumb and forefinger to his forehead in regular despair at Wes’s antics.. Hobbie just tosses his hands up in exasperation. “Hey,” he calls back to Tycho, as he follows everyone in. “They’re happy. And together! That’s a positive thing out of all this.”

Tycho smiles. He’d seen the look on Wedge’s face. It’s been a very long time since he saw him that genuinely happy. They could have all done without Wedge almost losing his life to make it happen, but they’re happy. That’s a _very_ good thing.

.

Tycho watches as Luke helps Wedge out of his chair and then slowly down the steps to Varykino’s shore, where he’s sitting, dangling his legs into the cool water.

In the week that the Rogues have been here, Tycho’s observed a couple of Wedge’s physical therapy sessions, and the gruelling physical nature of them, strengthening Wedge’s muscles and improving his stamina. Without it, he might think that Luke is being too gentle with Wedge; now, he understands the comfort and support Wedge needs. And Wedge is stubborn – he’s determined to do things by himself, if he can manage them, acquiescing only to Luke.

Tycho’s always been aware that he can exploit Wedge’s affection for Luke in order to ensure that Wedge takes care of himself. He's glad that Luke and Wedge have sorted themselves out enough that Luke can exploit it too.

“You should rest,” Tycho hears Luke say, in a soft voice.

“I’m fine, love,” Wedge replies.

“No, you aren't, and Varéna will kill me if I let you keep pushing yourself.”

Wedge sighs. “Alright, fine, set me down next to Tycho, I’m sure he’ll ensure I won’t go anywhere.”

“He’ll be safe with me,” Tycho calls out.

It takes a little while for Luke to bring Wedge over – it would be simpler just to pick Wedge up and carry him, something Tycho has witnessed a time or two – but eventually, Wedge is sitting beside Tycho, looking out towards the lake.

“See, I’m fine Luke,” Wedge protests, as Luke hovers in a concerning manner. “Tych’ll take good care of me, go and find Wes and Hobbie and make sure they aren't getting into any trouble.”

Luke shakes his head, and darts in for a quick kiss before vanishing. Wedge rolls his eyes, then turns his attention to pulling off his soft shoes and rolling up his trousers so he can dangle his feet in the water just like Tycho.

In doing so, he reveals pale pink scarring across his leg, evidence of his injuries. Tycho doesn’t mean to stare, but he must do so – enough that Wedge says: “I’m starting to get used to it, but I still look at it oddly sometimes. I spent so long with it in a cast that I never really saw, so—”

“It’s not bad,” Tycho hastily clarifies. “And it’ll fade, over time.”

Wedge scoffs, and then smiles. “You don’t need to shamelessly boost my self-esteem. I’ve got Luke for that.”

“You’ve got Luke, that’s true enough.” Tycho gives Wedge a smile that is more of a smirk. “I did tell you that he was going to stay by your side, regardless, didn't I?”

Wedge’s cheeks go red and he ducks his head. “I feel like everyone else knew he was in love with me before I did.”

“I gathered.” Tycho throws his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “I’m not sure you would have believed me if I told you, though. I’d certainly tried to hint at it enough over the years. You just… were so sure that he didn’t feel the same way you did that it never occurred to you to ask if he did. It’s been obvious to the rest of us for years.”

Burrowing against Tycho’s shoulder, Wedge mutters: “He’s already told me I’ve been a fool. As has he.”

“It doesn’t matter much if you found your way to each other in the end. And if you are happy. That’s the most important thing. You are happy, right?”

“Yeah,” Wedge says, with a note of wistfulness tucked in amongst affection. “He makes me happy. Happier than I think I’ve ever been. Sometimes I think I might overflow with it – is that what it’s supposed to feel like?”

Tycho lost all of his joy when Alderaan was destroyed – but he remembers the feeling, of telling Nyiestra that he loved her and he’d come back for her. He’s still trying to work out how to get that feeling back. “At times, yes. It’s overwhelming at first. Haven’t you—”

“Never like this.” Wedge finishes Tycho’s unasked question. “I’ve never felt like this before. And I’m… I’m terrified, too?”

“Of what?” Tycho asks.

“That it’s going to end. That we aren’t going to be able to make it work – it’s not like how it used to be, when we were CO and XO, founders of Rogue Squadron – we lead different lives now. Complicated lives.”

“Love is _scary_ , Wedge. That’s how it works. If you aren’t, somewhere deep in your soul, terrified that you might lose them… that’s what love is, in a lot of ways. And with the lives we’ve led, it’s certainly understandable.” Tycho leans back slightly, locking eyes with Wedge, regarding him. “Can I tell you something though, as someone who lost everyone I loved in one fell sweep? I don’t regret a moment of _loving_ them. I’m grateful for the time we had – I certainly wish it had been more. But it wasn’t. So… take what you can get. If it ends, at least you gave it everything.”

For a moment the only sounds are those of the water splashing against the bricks. Then Wedge laughs. He is boundless, face spread into a grin, slapping an arm around Tycho’s shoulders. Tycho looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Maybe I have,” Wedge replies, when Tycho voices this thought. “Sorry, I really think I have been caged up here with only Luke for company for far too long. You’re right, though. I should stop worrying and just start _loving_ him.”

“That would be my advice. But it still doesn’t explain what’s so damn funny about what I said!”

That sets Wedge off into another peal of giggles. Against his side, Tycho can feel the other man shake with laughter. It’s difficult to avoid being caught up in Wedge’s unexpected joy; eventually, Tycho finds himself laughing along with his friend, at nothing in particular but the fact that they’re both alive and here and with each other, and there isn’t a war raging above their heads.

“I don’t know!” Wedge protests, and Tycho shoves lightly at him, pushing Wedge away from his shoulder. Wedge falls back, weight settling on hands that are planted firmly on the steps of the balcony. “I don’t, I swear!”

Tycho grins, leaning back against the wall. “It’s alright. It’s just nice to hear you laugh again.” As Wedge’s face furrows, Tycho elaborates. “There was a time when that didn’t seem like it was going to happen. And now you’re up, and walking – even if it is only just – and I can believe that you might actually get back to normal some day.”

“It’s still a little way off.” Wedge sighs, skimming one of his hands through the water. “If I could actually get somewhere without Luke supporting me most of the way, that would be a good start. But I know what you mean. I am going to get back to normalcy. What that really means, I don’t know yet.”

“There will always be a place for you with the Rogues, you know that. If you want to come back.”

“I do.” Wedge’s voice is wistful as he says it though, with a trace of doubt that is an unusual thing to hear in his voice. “The Rogues are my home, my family.”

“But so is Luke, and Luke isn’t a Rogue anymore,” Tycho interjects.

“Once a Rogue, always a Rogue, isn’t that what we said?” Wedge muses. “There are so few of us who survived to retire though, so it’s not a great number. You know Luke would still be flying with us if he didn’t have more important things to do. But I digress – I do want to go back. If they’ll let me, anyway, and that’s a whole other hurdle I’m going to have to get over. If not… I’ve got options, Tych. And a lot of time here to think about what they might be.”

“We’ll miss you when you finally do go.” Wedge looks over to find Tycho smirking. “You will, Wedge. You’ll go tearing off to follow Luke, I reckon, once you’ve settled everything you’ve got to settle. But while we’ve got you – and we will get you back, I promise you that – we could sure use you.”

A puzzled expression crosses Wedge’s face, and then he sighs. “How is it that you seem to know me better than I know myself?”

“Search me.” Tycho grins. “You can’t tell me it isn’t useful now and then.”

Any number of missions where it seems Tycho has read Wedge’s mind and saved a life, or three, or the entire squadrons, are proof of that. “Yeah.”

.

It’s a hazy afternoon when the Rogues depart, their leave finally up. Their X-wings, which have sat in the open field behind Varykino all this time, are refuelled and ready to go, at the behest of Eirtaé. Plourr has returned from the capital, bringing back tales of Sosha Soruna’s wilder antics, and having conducted some degree of diplomacy, the details of which no one is entirely sure of.

“Stay out of trouble,” Wedge tells Wes, standing up to embrace him quickly. The past week, with the Rogues about, has seen him pushing the limits of what he can do – and he’s now able to stand up from his chair completely unaided. It’s a big step.

“Me? I’ll have you know I’ve been on my best behaviour – oi, Hobbie, you’ll back me up here!”

Laughter fills the air as Hobbie comes over, clapping Wes over the head. “He’s not been so bad, really. The kids, however—”

Wedge sighs. “Who are we defining as the kids now? You know they aren’t that much younger than we are – well, apart from Snap.”

“You know it's different, if they didn’t fight the entire war.” Hobbie leans in for a hug. “I’ve been picking you out of scrapes for almost ten years now.”

Surprise crosses Wedge’s face. “No way—” He thinks for a moment. “Has it really been that long? Force, yeah, we ought to leave things to the kids. We’ve been at this too long.”

“And you’ve butchered your leg three times in the time I’ve known you. So. It’s good to see you getting better. And you’ll be back with us before too long?”

Hobbie’s face is hopeful, and Wedge smiles softly. “In a couple of months, they reckon. So, yeah, don’t go getting too comfortable without me or anything.”

No one talks about the bantha in the room: whether Wedge will be flying when he goes back. So far, his return has been spoken of as one of an officer and a commander – not of a pilot. It’s still too far off for any judgements, for anyone to make sweeping proclamations. He just has to take it one day at a time.

He’ll will cross that bridge when he comes to it. And if it comes down to it, he’ll serve as an officer, and regain his love of flying on his own time.

Hobbie draws away, going across with Wes to say quick goodbyes to Luke. Wedge steadies himself on his chair, waiting for Tycho to approach. He comes over with a smile. “I’m gonna miss you,” Tycho says.

“You’ll have me back before you know it, and then you won’t know why you missed me,” Wedge replies.

Tycho grins. “Come here.” Wedge steps forward and is drawn into a tight, careful hug. He leans against Tycho’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Tycho’s waist. One of Tycho’s hands cups the back of Wedge’s head. “You know, you don’t have to rush. I’ve got things under control. Stay here with Luke, for as long as you can. You’ve said it and I know you know it: you two don’t know when you’ll get a time like this again. So enjoy it. Rogue Squadron will always be there for you to come home to, Wedge.”

Wedge clings tight to the man who is his best friend in the whole galaxy for a long moment. Then he lifts his head off Tycho’s shoulder and draws back so he can look at Tycho. “Thanks. But I am coming back. I don't… I don’t know how long I’ll stay. You’ll be back in command one day, I suspect. But I need to finish things there.”

Tycho smiles softly, and then pulls Wedge forward slightly to place a kiss on Wedge’s forehead. “You fool. You never did like leaving things unfinished.”

Slightly bashful, with a strip of pink across his cheeks, Wedge looks up at Tycho. “What on earth was that for?” he asks, just a little confused.

Tycho laughs. “Nothing.” He ruffles Wedge’s hair, then looks at the already setting sun. “Damn. We’d better be off. Take care, Wedge. And we’ll see you soon.”

“Take care, and stay safe,” Wedge tells him.

He sits down, and Luke comes up behind him as they watch the X-Wings lift off in flight, and slowly vanish into the pale blue Naboo sky.

.

“What are you reading?”

Luke looks up from his seat at one of the library desks and sees Wedge’s chair, slowly coming to a stop between two bookcases. A glance around reveals that it’s darker than Luke thought; the sun is setting around him. And Luke has barely noticed.

Luke has to flip his book over to give Wedge an answer to his question. “ _The succession of female naivety: the Legacy of King Veruna_ _’s reign_ ,” he reads off. “It’s awful. But interesting in its own way. Mostly in how wrong this guy is.”

“If it’s awful, you should really leave it be for this evening,” Wedge suggests. “Come with me, I’m sure we can find something better to do.”

It’s a fair suggestion. Luke stand, finding himself wearier than he thought he was, but wipes that aside. Wedge has been through at least three hours of physical therapy today and he seems to be alright, so Luke can manage too. They chat as they wind their way back through the corridors of Varykino to Wedge’s room.

Exhausted, Luke falls on to the sofa as soon as it’s in reach. Wedge chuckles as he pulls his chair up alongside, leaning over the arm of the sofa to awkwardly kiss Luke. “Long day?”

Luke scrubs a hand at his eyes, desperately trying to wipe away his tiredness. He looks up at Wedge’s face, his eyes sparkling with mirth, and that cheers his spirits a little. “Sorry love. Don’t know what’s got into me.”

“Exceedingly dull books, I reckon.” Wedge parks his chair, and then pushes himself out of it. The step or two it is to the sofa is manageable these days, though his hands reach out in front of him, braced for a fall that could happen any minute. One of Wedge’s hands ends up clutching at Luke’s knee as he settles himself down, and then slides up to grip Luke’s thigh. “You reckon you’ve got enough energy in you for an episode of something?”

“Yeah. Nothing with too much of a plot, though.” Luke settles against Wedge’s shoulder as Wedge flicks through the options of the many, many holo programmes they’ve downloaded to watch during Wedge’s recuperation. There’s a hell of a lot to catch up on.

“Another episode of _High Thrusters_? If there was ever anything you didn’t need to pay attention too, it’s that.” Luke nods, sleepy against Wedge, already lulled by Wedge’s warmth and scent into a sense of serenity, where he really couldn’t give two figs about the revving of the engines and absurd challenges that the presenters have set themselves this week. Before too long, Luke is out like a light, snoring against Wedge.

“Well.” Wedge’s voice is soft and fond, as her brushes a strand of hair out of Luke’s face. “I guess I’ve fallen asleep on you enough over the last several months. I don’t really have grounds to complain that much. But it would have been nice if you could have stayed awake a little longer.” He presses a kiss to Luke’s temple, lingering, brushing his nose against Luke’s hair, inhaling the fresh apple-like scent.

Wedge watches the show, but with the casual attention of a man distracted by his own reality. Luke is a pleasant weight on his shoulder, and Wedge finds that he really couldn’t care less about whether the guys can adapt their ships to navigate underwater.

When the episode finishes, Wedge reaches to turn off the holo recorder. He jolts Luke as he does so, who starts; lifting his head and blinking his eyes. “What?”

“You fell asleep Luke,” Wedge says, keeping his voice low.

Luke pushes the sleep from his eyes, coming to full wakefulness. “Did I? Sorry love. I didn’t mean too.” He blinks again, grasping for his bearings, then leans forward to kiss Wedge.

It’s a little clumsy – Luke is still half-asleep and it shows in the languid way he kisses, but his mouth is soft and warm and sweet as Wedge parts his lips and raises his hands to cup Luke’s face, drawing him closer. Luke returns it, pressing close as he becomes more alert, mouth becoming deft in how it pushes against Wedge’s, chasing warmth and pressure and comfort. It’s easy, in its own way, and Luke’s hands find their way to Wedge’s waist, pulling him in tight.

There’s a gasp from Wedge as Luke tugs maybe a little too quickly on a joint. Luke stops, fearful, but Wedge presses on, kissing Luke deeper and licking into his mouth. His weight presses down onto Luke, and Luke shifts his hands so they’re beneath Wedge’s thighs, then lifts Wedge up so the man is fully astride his lap.

Wedge buries his hands in Luke’s hair, taking full advantage of the height that Luke has given him to lean down and press more kisses against Luke’s mouth. “Not bad for a man who was asleep ten minutes ago,” Wedge comments, words spoken in hasty breaths between kisses.

“I really didn’t mean too.” Luke lifts his hands to stroke up Wedge’s back, offering him a little support, but also relishing in the warmth. His fingers brush the edge of Wedge’s shirt and he slips them underneath, grazing against skin. “You, on the other hand, are remarkably with it for this time of evening. What’s got into you?”

“You have.” Wedge drags his mouth – and tongue – along Luke’s jaw. And then he whispers in Luke’s ear. “Though, you know, I wouldn't complain if you were actually in me.”

“Wedge!” Luke pulls away, almost scandalised – as if he hasn’t been inside Wedge a fair number of times in the past.

“Okay, okay, Jahon said that penetrative sex was still probably a bad idea, especially that way round, but that doesn’t mean the idea isn’t nice.”

Luke looks up at Wedge. There’s a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks. Luke has to admit… it’s a nice thought. But. They can’t… “Wait, did you speak to Jahon about whether we could have sex?”

“It… might have come up. And Varéna was involved too, just so you know. But apparently – as long as we are careful, and they both did emphasise that point – anything involved, oh, what were the words used – manual or oral stimulation – shouldn't present a problem.”

“So, handjobs and blowjobs?” Luke translates.

“Yeah. And I think they were cautious about giving the all-clear on penetrative sex less out of fear that it might cause me any damage, and more for the fact that it might affect physical therapy.”

Luke remembers the first time he was fucked, and – well, it’s true. Walking is a little interesting the next day. You get used to it, but Wedge is … not. “Well, we’d work up to that anyway. Everything else sounds nice though.”

“Right?” Wedge smiles, a little cocky, pressing himself against Luke.

He’s hard. “Now?” The words come out a little higher than Luke intended them too.

“Luke, I didn’t endure a mortifying conversation with my nurse and physical therapist for it not to pay off in results.”

Luke grasps Wedge’s ass firmly, and kisses him.

.

Sticky and damp with perspiration, Luke nestles closer into Wedge’s side.

Wedge’s breathing has evened out from the erratic, fast-paced gasps that it had been only minutes earlier. He’s loose-limbed, eyes closed; Luke has seen Wedge in the afterglow before but never had such a chance to _appreciate_ it before.

(Also, despite Wedge saying that he was fine, a little piece of Luke had been concerned that – once the overriding desire wore off – there would be pain, from unexpected and unusual movement. But there doesn’t seem to be any of that.)

“I love you,” Luke says, pressing small kisses along Wedge’s shoulder. He grazes a hand against Wedge’s bare side, feeling Wedge squirm slightly as he brushes a ticklish point. “I love you, Wedge, I love you—”

Wedge turns his head, catching Luke’s eye. Wedge’s hair is a little damp, slicked back from his face with perspiration, but his eyes are bright and clear. “I love you too,” he says, quietly serious.

On the bed, only a glow of a bedside lamp illuminating them – Wedge looks beautiful, Luke thinks, light striking just so that his strong profile is illuminated. Underneath the sheet, their feet are tangled together. The sex was nice – it’s been a long time building, and being able to follow through on all the promises they’ve quietly been making for months is a blissful release. To be able to touch, to bring pleasure – especially with less immediate concern that his touch would also bring pain – is a delight. Watching Wedge’s expressions slowly turn to bliss… Luke wants nothing more than to be able to bring Wedge that much joy for the rest of his life.

But lying here, afterwards, tangled up in each other, skin against bare skin; there’s as much worth in that. In some ways, they’ve never been more in sync than when they were flying – even though they were in separate cockpits, miles away from each other’s touch – but this. This is as close as they’ll get. To that feeling. It’s almost like they can touch the stars.

Luke pushes his face against Wedge’s shoulder, lips trailing over every inch of skin he can reach, and then he pushes upwards, angling his face so he can kiss Wedge, oh so soft. “Never doubt again that I love you, darling.” Luke pushes a strand of hair behind Wedge’s ear, lingering. “I will love you until the stars burn out, if the world ends with just us, I will love you. I will love you even if we fall apart, I will hold you in my heart and adore you, my shining homeward star.”

Red crosses Wedge’s cheeks, in a fierce blush. He doesn’t have any words to say in return. But he presses his forehead against Luke’s, looking at him, and trying to will just how much this means to him.

“You’ll always be where I call home,” Wedge whispers, a truth that he’s long held in his chest – since Yavin, he thinks, when he took decided to keep the hero of the hour close, this boy fresh from Tatooine. Maybe he was doomed from that first briefing, the first Death Star run – maybe it was when he’d told Luke that, sure, he could put Wedge as his next of kin on the Alliance’s pointless datawork.

“And I will always fly home to you,” Luke replies.

.

Wedge steps across the balcony at Varykino, unsupported.

Luke is a step or two ahead of him, hands out and ready to dart forward and catch Wedge if he stumbles. From the open doors, Varéna watches with a careful eye, appraising Wedge’s progress. But Wedge is making steady progress.

His steps are small and cautious, and he tests his weight on each before moving forward. But he moves across the balcony, until Luke is against the far wall, and then Wedge is with him.

Luke takes Wedge’s hands, threading his fingers through Wedge’s, and looks at him in an excited manner. “You did it!” he says, delighted. “You made it all the way across the balcony by yourself.”

“So, am I walking?” Wedge asks, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I think that was the agreement,” Luke replies. He leans up to kiss Wedge, deep and enthusiastic and exuberant.

“Alright, break it up you two.” Varéna’s tone is playful as she walks over. “That was good, Wedge. A very good start. You’ve made a whole hell of a lot of progress.”

Varéna continues to talk, and Wedge stands there and listens to her feedback, her advice for next time. After giving him a chance to rest, she makes him walk across the balcony again, and again.

Luke sits down on the bench to watch Wedge work. They’ve come so far from where they were months ago, that Luke can hardly believe it. Wedge is coming on leaps and bounds now, stronger every single day.

By the end of the session, Wedge is exhausted, leaning heavily against Luke. He sits back in his chair to be escorted indoors, and Luke has to lift him out of it onto the sofa.

“Do you want some tea?” Luke asks, leaning Wedge’s head against a pillow. His eyes are half closed, and Luke has to hold in an amused, fond, laugh at the sight. He knows Wedge wouldn’t appreciate it, but – he’s so damn cute like this. “Kettch?” he adds, joking. When Wes had visited, he’d expressed considerable delight at the toy’s place of pride against Wedge’s pillow, making Wedge relegate him to the bedside drawer, but Luke keeps putting him back.

“Sounds nice,” Wedge murmurs in response, almost certainly not paying attention to everything Luke says.

Luke smooths a hand through Wedge’s hair, and goes off to get some tea and biscuits. Maybe that’ll rouse Wedge. When he comes back, Wedge is dozing on the sofa. Luke sets the tray down, then goes to retrieve Kettch from the bed, and tucks him loosely into Wedge’s arms. “You did say you wanted him,” Luke says, even as Wedge sleeps on.

He makes himself a cup of tea from the pot, but it’ll keep warm for a while yet. So he’ll let Wedge sleep on a bit, give him a chance to recover from a stressful therapy session.

Wedge does eventually rouse himself. He looks down, befuddled, at Kettch in his arms, and then across at Luke.

“Tea, dear?” Luke asks, draining his own cup. Wedge blinks at him several times, still visibly confused, before nodding. Luke makes him one – a dash of milk and a spoonful of sugar in it – and passes it over. The tea is cool enough now to drink immediately, and Wedge makes remarkable pace through the cup.

He sinks back against the sofa, catching his breath and trying to fully wake up again. Luke gives him five minutes – it’ll take a little while for the caffeine to sink in.

“Urgh,” Wedge mutters, stretching his leg out. “Everything hurts.”

Luke turns, eyebrow raised, mouth flexed into something resembling a frown. But Wedge’s tone isn’t thin, or wretched, not the way it was in the early days where he could barely breathe for the pain. “You alright?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m just moaning.” Wedge pushes down on his thigh, soothing the muscle. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m stiff and everything does _hurt_ , but it’s nothing like what it was. I’ve just been worked hard. Nothing more to it.”

“You did good, today,” Luke comments. “Won’t be long now before you’re properly back on your feet. And then—”

It hangs between them, the question of what comes next. There’s been murmurings of it, Wedge expressing an intent to go back to the service, but other than that…

“I don’t think I’m ever going to go back to quite being what I was,” Wedge says. There’s no trace of bitterness in his tone, just acceptance. “After a long day everything’s always going to ache, and I’ll probably always have to have a cane with me, in case of bad days. But, yeah, I’m going to be able to manage. Might even be able to fly again, eventually, though I know that’s still a little while off.”

Wedge’s words give Luke a chance to ask. “Have you thought about what you are going to do, now?”

Wedge stretches out, giving himself a chance, and then looks over at Luke. “I know this might not be the most profoundly sensible idea, but… I _need_ to go back to the Rogues. Even if it is just for a bit. I need to see that out. I spoke to Tycho a little about it; there’s room for some sort of collaborative command between us, even if I never get back in a cockpit. Which means, as soon as Varéna clears me, I’ll go back to military HQ and hope to hell I pass my physical. My commission’s still active. I’d be neglecting my duty if I did anything else.”

Luke lean over to take Wedge’s hand. Luke has never felt the same commitment to the service – he was almost written up for dereliction of duty more than once during the war, and felt no qualms walking away. But it’s an essential part of Wedge, one of the reasons Luke loves him so. “They’ll be lucky to have you, Wedge. And even luckier if you can fly again.”

Life in the service is nowhere near as dangerous as it was, even a year ago. The galaxy is slowly regaining a sense of peace. Skirmishes are solved with words, not soldiers, increasingly. Rogue Squadron will be on the front-lines, and Wedge will be in danger, but… that’s the life he’s chosen for himself. Luke has to respect that.

“I don’t know what I’ll do after that. I know that my time there is limited. I think, after that… I want to come back to you. So you better go and build yourself a life I can be part of.”

Wedge is smiling at Luke, almost bashful, a little dopey – nearly embarrassed at the openness of his desire. But Luke smiles straight back at him.

“I’m going to make sure I do that. I want that. I want you to come home to me, I want you to be happy with me, I want to have a life with you that is for both of us, darling—” Luke gets cut off as Wedge tugs him forward, meeting him in a kiss. Luke’s hands go up to clasp Wedge’s shoulders, kissing back for all he’s worth.

“I love you,” Wedge whispers into Luke’s mouth.

They kiss, long and sweet, until the afternoon melts away into evening, but their only concern is each other.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone has to go away, someone else comes to visit, and things finally draw to a close.

Usually when Wedge finishes his physical therapy session, Luke is already waiting for him. And half the time, he’s present at the session itself, and often he’s slipped in to watch the last half an hour and get an update on how Wedge is doing. Today, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“He’ll be somewhere,” Varéna reassures, with a touch of a hand to Wedge’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go and find him?”

Wedge is still on his feet. They had a good session today. He catches the implication of Varéna’s words. She’d like him to go exploring for Luke, on his own, without his chair, start putting into practice the independence they’ve been working on.

Jahon scuttles her plan. “He’s in the gardens, yelling at his commlink.” Varéna sighs, but even a walk to the gardens on his own is a start. “To save you the search.”

Wedge raises his eyebrows. Luke yelling at him commlink is never a good sign of anything. Luckily, the walk from the therapy gardens out to the gardens isn’t tremendously far, but Wedge feels every inch of it. After a physical therapy session, it’s hard enough to keep going. He takes it slowly, using his cane to help him along.

Jahon was right. Luke is standing in the middle of the open terrace that leads out to the gardens, talking sternly to whoever is on the other end of the commlink. “I know, I know– just, are you certain that you need me?”

“You’ve read the report Luke,” Leia’s soft tone sounds out of the commlink’s speakers. “I’m heading there with Mon and her team, but… we could use you. If we can quell this, then we avert a potential disaster that could have horrendous ramifications for decades in the Outer Rim. And they want to speak to the Jedi.”

“And that would be me.” Luke sighs, raking a hand through his hair. Looking upwards, he turns his head just enough to catch sight of Wedge standing on the steps that lead out the house. “Lei, Wedge is here. I need to speak to him. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“That needs to be soon. We’re leaving in a galactic standard hour, and if you won’t meet us there then we’ll need to formulate a plan B.”

The commlink clicks off and Luke turns so he’s fully facing Wedge. “Wedge—”

“You have to leave,” Wedge says, the fear that’s haunted their entire time at Varykino finally coming to pass.

Luke draws in a deep breath, going tense for a moment, and then releases it. “Yes, I think I might.” He moves to sit down on the steps, ushering Wedge to sit down next to him. “There’s an emergency in the Outer Rim that has the potential to shape Galactic politics for… a lifetime, if what Leia’s saying is correct, and I think it is, and supposedly my presence would avert a crisis and—”

“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” Wedge says, quietly. “I know how important you are.”

Luke leans his head to rest against Wedge’s, pushing his body tight against the other man’s. “No, I do, because I love you and I need you to understand the reasons why I’m choosing to go, and that I’m going to come back to you when it’s over. Alright? That’s how we’re going to make this work between us.”

Wedge is silent for a long moment. He doesn’t have the words.

“They want to see a Jedi. Just me. That should be easy enough. The planet’s a few days travel from here, but I think I shouldn’t be gone too long – a couple of weeks at most. If Leia wants to drag it out longer, I’ll try and put her off, but I can’t make any promises. But I’ll come back to you after it’s all over. Is that alright?”

Luke pulls back so that he can look Wedge directly in the eye, and there’s a seriousness to his expression. That if Wedge said no, it wasn’t alright with him, then Luke wouldn’t go – political ramifications be damned.

Wedge knows enough about the galaxy to know that he could never really ask that of Luke, but it’s nice that Luke thinks to ask it, and that he’s _genuine_ about it.

“Of course, Luke, you have to go. It’s an emergency.” Wedge takes one of Luke’s hands into his own. “I’ll miss you. But you’re needed, I know that, so… go. With my blessing.”

Luke nods, a slight little thing. “I should go and call Leia back then. They’ll need to make arrangements.” He leans in to kiss Wedge, soft and gentle, lingering just a little bit longer than their quick kisses usually last, as if he’s aware that he’s not going to be able to do it for a while, and wants to savour every part of Wedge whilst he still can.

“I’ll go get Eirtaé. She’ll be able to help.” Wedge can’t help but kiss Luke too, aware that Luke is probably going somewhere dangerous, and that the chance of losing him is slim, but still present. He’s hesitant pulling away too, but he knows he has to, and his gaze lingers on Luke as he looks back before disappearing into the house.

.

“Are you alright?” Jahon asks, two days after Luke has left.

Wedge has received a single comm message since, confirming his safe arrival, and distantly he knows that he probably won’t receive anything else until Luke is ready to leave – he’s too busy and it’s too far away, and not set up for regular contact. Wedge doesn’t mind, inherently – he’s spent far too much time away from Luke over the years, out of contact with him.

But he’s spent the last six months in Luke’s company with the man by his side almost every waking moment, and his loss makes Wedge physically ache.

Wedge is distantly aware of someone sitting down beside him. “I’m going to take your lack of answer for a no,” Jahon says.

Jahon’s warm beside Wedge, and Wedge has to resist the urge to lean into it – Jahon has never shown any propensity for unnecessary physical contact, and Wedge doesn’t miss Luke _quite_ that much that cuddling his nurse sounds like a good idea.

“I’m—” Wedge stops short of saying fine, because he suspects that Jahon would call bullshit. “I’m not not okay. If that makes sense. I just miss him, and it’s odd not having him here.”

“It is,” Jahon agrees, which is the last thing Wedge expected him to say. “Don’t grump all on your own and pine whilst you wait for him to come back, though. Varéna and I are about, and I know hanging with your nurse and your physical therapist isn’t exactly the height of fun, but…”

Jahon’s face scrunches up and Wedge bites back a laugh about how awkward he’s being about it. “I think I’d go mad if I didn’t talk to someone, Jahon, so I appreciate the offer. I might end up taking you up on that.”

“Just ask. We’re about. Oh, and this came.” Jahon drops a data-chip into Wedge’s lap. “Special courier of some sort via the palace. Why they couldn’t have just sent it to your datapad, I don’t know.”

Wedge raises his eyebrows. He has his suspicions as to what it is.

He ignores it for as long as he can, preferring to sit outside under the Naboo sun and watch as the birds fly over the lake. But eventually he has to head in, and sits at the desk in his room – in Luke’s chair – and slots the datachip into an awaiting datapad.

It’s exactly what he thinks it is.

He’d been in touch with military headquarters, once he’d been able to walk again. Wanting to enquire about just what the procedure was to get him back fighting again. There’s a medical exam to pass, and a psych eval, and on this chip is a date for an appointment that will start the process. A little over two months away, and then he’ll know whether he can go back to Rogue Squadron, or if he’ll have to sort alternative life plans out a whole lot sooner than he thought he would.

His stomach flips, an unsettled feeling emerging in his chest. With Luke away, things were already feeling off – from the normalcy they’ve built here on Naboo, and now… it’s going to end. It always was but now Wedge has an end date, a date on which he will have to walk away from their sanctuary, and away from Luke…

His heart aches at the thought.

They’ve said enough that Wedge is sure that won’t be the end of them. They love each other, and they’ll try, and Wedge can hope with all his heart that it’ll be enough, but Wedge longs for something more solid, something he can hold onto through the long nights of his service, when he’s out on a mission and any moment could be his last.

He sets the datapad down on the desk. He shuffles in his chair, feeling the nerves in his back twinge slightly as he does so, and starts thinking.

.

Three days later, Wedge arrives at Theed Spaceport, the first part of a threadbare plan in motion. Jahon is by his side, ensuring his safety. They’re awaiting the arrival of a passenger ship, with Doctor Kalonia on board. Wedge had contacted her – he’d had something he wanted to ask her. In the process, he’d ended up asking if she wanted to visit Naboo for a much needed vacation, and she’d taken him up on his offer. A weeks leave, guest of the palace and of Wedge, sounds like a dream to an overworked ship’s doctor. For Wedge, it’s a small thing to try and makeup for just how much trouble he was, and just how thankful he is for all the help she gave him.

Wedge knows that, without Kalonia, it’s unlikely he’d be standing here today. He’d be lucky to even be _alive_.

She brings herself, unexpectedly jubilant at the sight of Wedge on his feet – she embraces him, even though it’s quick and fast, which knocks the wind out of Wedge by pure surprise at her actions. He’d known she cared – he just hadn’t quite grasped how much. She presses a small package into his hands, and Wedge accepts it gratefully.

The day ahead of them is a whirlwind: Eirtaé shows up to give Kalonia and Wedge a guided tour of the palace, and Kalonia is interested in the medical developments that are being undertaken by the Theed doctors. It’s late when they all make it back to Varykino, and Wedge ensures Kalonia is settled comfortably before retreating to open up the parcel that she’d brought.

Inside is a piece of metal from the wreck that his X-wing had become. There was no saving his ship, in the end – it had been scrapped, and stripped for parts, and Wedge will admit that he’s sad about that, because that’s the same ship that saw him off Hoth and through the second Death Star safe and sound, and he’ll miss her and her peculiarities.

It’s scored rough on one side, from the impact of the ship on the deck – Wedge dimly remembers the screeching whine of the ship as he lost control, suddenly thrown off course – and there are burn marks along an edge, from where the ship had almost gone up in flames. Wedge reflects how lucky he was to survive the impact, how close he came to dying in that ship before anyone could pull him out.

But he didn’t.

He has to remember that.

They got him out. He woke up to Tycho, and to Luke, and out of what seemed a disaster something beautiful has grown. Luke – and it still seems impossible to Wedge – loves him back. Loves him as dearly and desperately as Wedge has loved Luke all these years.

It’s still too soon to think about marriage – though Wedge has _thought_ about it, in private moments, but he can acknowledge that they aren’t there yet and they really do need to see if they can actually make this work, with the distance that will soon be between them. But Wedge knows the value of a physical sign of commitment.

Rings are a galactic constant – but not necessarily the most practical, with the lives that Luke and Wedge lead. Wedge has known pilots to wear them on chains around their necks, and he respects that solution – something on a chain works well enough, can be tucked beneath a flightsuit and a vest, a reassuring weight on one’s chest – but to give Luke a ring feels a little much like a proposal. There will come a day when Wedge will do it, he thinks, and he makes a note to set aside enough of the metal to make a set of rings.

The only thing he is certain of is that he wants to make something. There is no universal sign amongst Corellians for partnership – clans made up their own, as things suited families. The Antilles hadn’t gone for anything in particular. His mother had a belt, that his father had made and stitched intricately with the constellations that could be seen above Gus Treta. His father had had a holster, made by his mother, frequently patched and repaired and every stitch made with love. Those were the signs. You made something for the person you loved, poured your heart and soul into it so they would always carry it with them.

Wedge still has the leather strap that his parents had made him, that had been tying his hair back that day when the refuelling station had gone up in flames. Afterwards, when the flames had cooled, Wedge had stood in the refresher of the rooms he’d been given onboard Booster’s ship, and hacked his hair off with a knife. Long hair is a symbol of youth on Corellia; you were only a boy for as long as you were in your family’s care, and Wedge had no more family.

Wedge doesn’t know much about Tatooine custom, but from what he can find out an exchange of gifts there is tantamount to a marriage. Luke will understand the implication behind the gift, a promise of things that are still yet to come between them, but things that Wedge wants so desperately.

Now if only he can think _what_ to make.

.

It takes several hours of solid thinking, a couple of trips to the marketplace, and a call to Mirax, before Wedge has any semblance of an idea beyond wanting to make _something_.

It's a conversation with Naela that finally sparks something. Wedge is fingering the jewellery at her stall, looking at the colours of the woven glass, trying to find something practical that Mirax would like; she’s due to arrive shortly, and Wedge has an apology to make.

(He’d already made several on the holocall that he’d been putting off for months and months. Mirax was not pleased that he hadn’t seen fit to tell her about his near-death experience. The fact that he hadn’t spoken to her since was less of an issue – they’d gone months and years without speaking before. She’d also been incendiary over his request for his mother’s Ryshcate, and even more so when she’d learnt that he wanted it so he could break Ryshcate with Luke Skywalker of all people!)

“A necklace is more practical then you might think,” Naela assures him. “Hang a pendant of some kind on a strong chain, and it’ll suit most. If it's a token of affection, they can just wear it under their clothes.”

Wedge hums in agreement. He’s settled on a pretty thing, clear glass with red and a fierce aqua blue running through it, for Mirax, and then— “Any token?”

Naela smiles at him, lifting the necklace he’s chosen for Mirax off its stand and boxing it up for him. “Anything. As long as you can afix some sort of loop to it, to fix it to a chain. Would you like me to package up a chain for you, so you can make something?”

“Yes.” Wedge’s response is perhaps a little fast, his heart racing slightly, the beginnings of a project taking place in his head.

Naela looks through an assortment of things in a box, before coming across something. She lifts it out to show Wedge. It’s fine work, even Wedge can see that, the links of the chain lying perfectly flat when laid again something. And Naela gives it a fast tug, proving the strength of it. “I think that should suit Luke just fine,” she says, putting it in a box.

Wedge feels a blush colouring his face. “It’s—”

“Not for Luke? Honey, don’t make me laugh.” Naela places both boxes in a bag. “The pair of you have been obvious for a while. Take it as a gift from me.” She smiles wide.

Wedge hands over the money for Mirax’s present, and thanks Naela profusely for it. She hands him the bag back, and Wedge walks away, satisfied with his purchase. He gets some things that Laverna asked for from the fruit market, and runs into Paeli and baby Hené again. The baby he’d held in his arms months ago has grown up, and now babbles exciting nonsense at him as he smiles at her, little hands flailing everywhere.

Wedge wants, a great deal, to have a child like her someday: and now, it seems like it might, some day, a long way in the future, be plausible. He can imagine it, and hopes that he’ll make it to a point where he can make it true.

.

What Wedge intends to do is not entirely possible on his own.

He thought about melting the metal from his X-Wing down, making something completely anew from it, casting it into a new shape. But he can’t find anything fitting, that would suit Luke, and… in a lot of ways, the charred and scratched metal has its own charm. But the chunk Kalonia brought is too big to be hung on a chain, and it’ll need a hook of some sort putting in so it can hang off the chain, and Wedge wants it to be sturdy work.

Jahon raises an eyebrow and sort of huffs when Wedge asks for his help – he’s been privy to the ups and downs of Wedge and Luke’s relationship as it’s progressed whilst they’ve been on Varykino and, given that Wedge understands that Jahon has _threatened_ Luke a couple of times, Wedge has never been entirely sure he approves. But he agrees to the idea readily enough, and doesn’t ask too many questions about exactly what the purpose of it is, beyond a gift.

(Wedge has no idea what Naboo wedding traditions are – but he doesn’t want to know, before he ends up with a Queen and her handmaidens planning an elaborate Royal Wedding for Naboo’s lost prince and his spouse. Wedge wants no part in that. Besides, Luke was raised on Tatooine. That’s where his heart lies.)

A toolbox is found. Jahon proves surprisingly handy – and Wedge is no slouch really, he knows his way around a soldering iron and a hacksaw, he grew up on a refuelling station and knew the virtue of making one’s own repairs. He’s just a little out of practice. Between the pair of them, the piece of metal is cut in half, and sanded so the edges are smooth. A score from where the X-Wing scraped across the hangar lies in the centre of the piece Wedge chooses.

Jahon helps to weld a small ring to the top, a hook through which Wedge intends to string it onto a chain. It takes some work between them to make it fast, secure enough that Wedge never has to worry about it falling from Luke’s neck.

That task done, Wedge asks for privacy.

Corellian tradition dictates that gifts should be personal. And so. Wedge makes it so.

He presses an indent of the rebellion starbird into the metal, scoring it carefully and closely. Of all those in the Rebellion, he can claim this more than most: he was Phoenix Squadron, if only for a short time, and the starbird originates with Sabine Wren, and the Phoenixes. He never painted it on his helmet, not like most, never saw it necessary, but it had blazed from Luke’s. They met during the Rebellion, their love forged in the fire there, and it seems fitting to imprint a symbol of his love with _that_ symbol, a reminder of all that they’ve lost and all that they’ve gained.

He melts down a little of the cast off, and uses it to map a constellation onto the reverse, little raised dots on the metal. Wedge knows it off by heart, having been taught it as a kid. The shining core star Corel, the heart around which every Corellian spun. It was a compass, and in placing it on the back, Wedge hopes that it will guide Luke back to him, every time.

Later, he strings the pendant onto the chain Naela provided. It hangs, catching the light, a solid enough thing with enough meaning behind it that Luke will know, but … something is missing.

It takes him three days to work it out. And another, to ponder over the leather strip that he pulled from the recesses of his kit bag, wondering if this really was the right choice. But he knows it in his heart.

He takes a knife to the leather, cutting away a fine strip along the edge. Parting the gift his parents made for him, that he’s barely touched since that day. He winds the strand around the base of the loop that links the pendant to the chain, and when he sees the result, he knows he’s made the right choice.

The entire thing _sings_ , and Wedge knows that this is a gift worthy of Luke.

.

“You fucking bastard!”

Wedge watches as Mirax Terrik steps off a speeder bike outside the front steps of Varykino, yelling up at him. He leans over the front wall, calling back down to her: “It’s delightful to see you too, Mirax, how have you been?”

Wedge’s tone is convivial, but Mirax is having none of it. She jumps up the steps to Wedge, pointing a finger furiously in his face, her other hand resting on the hilt of the blaster that’s worn at her hip. “You almost _died_! And the first I hear of it is because you want my help in _proposing_ to the galaxy’s greatest war hero?”

“It’s not—”

“You want to invite him to break Ryshcate with you, it’s effectively a proposal, even if it’s just a proposal to be proposed.” Mirax shakes her head at the tongue twister. “Also, I know I said this, but – Luke Skywalker? You couldn’t have settled for a nice Corellian boy?”

“There weren’t a lot of nice Corellian boys – or girls – about the Rebellion to meet. They all just tended to be _angry_. Besides… Luke is Luke.”

There’s a bashful smile on Wedge’s face, one that Mirax regards curiously. She’s never seen him like this. She knows he’s loved people, that he’s gone and lived a whole other life since they were kids together on his parent’s refuelling station, but… to see that look on his face, of long-held affection, that he’s still not quite sure how to express but he is sure is _real,_ is something beyond what she thought. When he’d called her, and stumbled through some words about why exactly he’d wanted his mother’s Ryshcate recipe, Mirax had hardly believed it. Wedge, in love. With a Jedi Knight?

Now she sees it plain in his face and wonders how she ever doubted it.

“You’re going to have to tell me about him properly, you know that,” she says, lowering her hand and relaxing her stance. “The propaganda’s got to be over-emphasised. I mean – c’mon, he didn’t seriously rescue Princess Leia off the death star and then blow it up, in the space of what – a week? At nineteen, having never been off planet before?”

Wedge stares down at her. “I think Han Solo had a hand in helping, both times, but yes.”

Mirax shrugs. “Okay, but… like—”

“He sort of has this habit of exceeding your expectations,” Wedge says, which is an understatement. He’d not thought a thing to the kid who’d sat next to him in that first Death Star briefing, would never have imagined that he’d grow to be the man who Wedge loves so dearly. “Now, do you want to come in? There’s a room all set up for you.”

Mirax drops the bag that’s swung over he shoulder, and moves forward to embrace Wedge. If he’s surprised, he settles quickly, wrapping his arms back around. “Missed you, Myri,” he mutters into her hair.

“Missed you too, Veggies,” she replies.

.

Ryshcate turns out to be surprisingly complicated.

It’s a delicate tradition. The particulars of it are unique to Corellia, though the act of sharing food as a ritual is near galaxy wide. Family is important, which is why Wedge has invited Mirax, the closest thing he has left to family – there has been no news of his sister Syal, who seems to have vanished along with the Imperial remnant to the farthest reaches – and plans to use his mother’s recipe.

Wedge doesn’t remember the details. He hadn’t been old enough when his parents died for his mother to have passed it on. He made the toast once, a memory he treasures greatly. But luckily, Booster Terrik was around the family kitchen enough over the years that the recipe Mirax has should be close enough, though they might need to do some tweaking.

They take over the kitchen one afternoon. Mirax has a stash of vweilu nuts, and the finest Whyren’s Reserve from her father’s stash, and the rest is simple. Flour, butter, sugar, an egg – the cake mix is creamed up, rich and sticky sweat, the nuts beaten in, the whiskey darkening the colour. The two of them pour it into a small tin, and then it bakes in the oven as both of them drink a shot from the whiskey.

“That’s good,” Wedge says, sipping it slowly.

“Should be, it’s part of my father’s prize stash. If there was ever an occasion to use it, than this was it,” Mirax replies.

“Do you think he’d approve?” Wedge asks, uncertain.

Mirax scoffs. “Does it matter if he does?” Wedge looks uneasy, and she settles a hand over his. “Look, you love him. That’s all the matters. And you’re going to tell him that with Ryshcate, and with a gift, and I don’t know how you could do more than that.”

Wedge looks at the amber liquid in his glass. “You know, this is the first drink I’ve had since the accident.”

“Really?” Mirax looks surprised. “Well then, I’m happy to be sharing it with you.”

They drink, and Mirax enquires a little further about Luke – she’s asked a lot already, but she keeps finding new questions to ask, and whilst Wedge isn’t entirely comfortable talking about his relationship and his feelings, it's surprisingly easy to answer Mirax’s questions about Luke. He almost likes it.

Then the timer springs done, and they get the Ryshcate out the oven. The colour has gone a deep, golden brown. Mirax turns it out the tin whilst Wedge pours out a small glass of whiskey. They wait five minutes or so for it to cool, and then pour the whiskey over the surface of the cake. It seeps in, leaving the cake glistening.

From there, they wait for it to cool so they can eat it. Breaking off small bites, Wedge leaves it to Mirax to say the toast. They’re sharing it, after all, so it needs saying. Then they both partake, placing small morsels into their mouths.

Childhood memories come flooding back in that moment, a sense-rich memory of family gatherings and the breaking of Ryshcate. And yet—

“It’s not quite right,” Wedge says.

“Yeah.” Wedge is glad that Mirax agrees. “It’s not quite like Auntie Zena made.”

“Something… nutty?” Wedge thinks.

“The one thing I’m certain on is the proportion of vweilu nuts, I remember having to weigh them out. But I think you’re right. But I can’t think what else she would have put in?”

They go back and forth, tasting more bits, but they don’t solve it. Mirax is certain these are the only ingredients, so there must be something they are missing in the preparation. But they can’t crack it.

They’re still in the kitchen, morosely turning over the ingredient list, the taste of the vweilu nuts, when Laverna returns to make dinner.

She tuts and sighs at them, and Wedge remembers that he’d promised to leave her kitchen spotless. They haven’t done that. He and Mirax spring into action, hastily wiping surfaces down and clearing their debris aside into a small pile that they can sort later.

Mirax leaves – she’s still got business bits and pieces to take care of whilst she is here – so Wedge is left to ponder their failure. Laverna, once she’s got dinner started, comes up behind him to examine the results.

“What is it?” she asks. “Didn’t turn out quite like you expected?”

“It was close,” Wedge says. “But there’s something missing. Only we’re both certain that there’s nothing missing from the ingredients, so—”

“Listen, I might not know much about Ryshcate, but I know a fair bit about cooking. Tell me.”

So Wedge does. He walks her through the list of ingredients, through the preparation, and what he remembers, the taste that is missing. Laverna clucks, tastes a vweilu nut and a piece of cake, and then – “You could try browning your butter. That usually produces a slightly nutty taste.”

Wedge presses her on instructions. It sounds simple enough, a modification that is easily made and might pay off.

The next day, he and Mirax try again, browning the butter before they add it to the mix. From the moment they set the butter over the heat, Wedge knows that they’ve found it; he remembers that smell, drifting out the kitchen. The resultant Ryshcate looks much the same as the one they made yesterday, but this one holds a weight of expectant promise.

It’s Wedge who takes the first bite of this one.

Mirax looks at him expectantly, eyebrows creased. He savours the taste.

“It’s perfect,” he pronounces, and she sighs with relief.

.

Wedge hears a little from Luke whilst he’s gone – reassuring messages, and apologies when the entire process drags out far longer than anyone had foreseen it. Six weeks after Luke left, Wedge finally receives news that he’s on his way home. It’ll take him three days to work his way back across space to Naboo; so Wedge has three days to make everything _perfect._

“I’m staying,” Mirax declares, taking one look at Wedge’s fretting. He doesn’t ask her to – he’s not even sure he wants her around, given that it was only him and Luke here for so long. He doesn’t know what Mirax’s presence might mean. “I won’t get in the way of your love fest, but I do want to meet him. Given that you like him so much.”

Wedge can hardly argue with that; it’s nice to have some family to share with Luke. Neither of them have much of it. They have to take what they can get.

In the time they have, they work out what is left to do. Wedge has to work out what he’s even going to _say_ to Luke. A fresh Ryshcate has to be made, with the recipe that he and Mirax have now perfected. Wedge’s gift for Luke sits pretty in a jewellery box, and Wedge takes to carrying it in his pocket, nervously worrying at it as he wonders whether it will be enough, whether Luke will understand his intentions, how much of everything he wants he still needs to put into words.

And, before he knows it; Luke is back.

Eirtaé announces his arrival in Theed spaceport. It’ll take him a little longer to get all the way out to Varykino. It’s the morning, so Varéna makes Wedge do his physical therapy session as usual; it takes his mind off the proceedings, anyway. It’s all about strength and endurance now, trying to create good habits. No matter how well Wedge gets, he’s going to be managing the results of this accident for the rest of his life. There’s been mention of Wedge’s ability to fly – but Varéna says that Wedge will need a specialist for that. It’s the sort of thing that is probably best handled when he goes back to the military.

Varéna keeps him until Mirax arrives, stating: “He’s here, Eirtaé just spotted him coming up the road.” Wedge drops everything, and Varéna just laughs.

“Don’t worry about this afternoon’s session,” she yells after him. Wedge has already grabbed a cane and is halfway out the door. “You wouldn't focus on anything anyway!”

Wedge isn’t listening to a word she says. He moves, as quickly as he is able – which is a slow walking pace, realistically. Mirax thinks about following him, but she leave him be; they deserve a chance to reunite on their own terms, without worrying about anyone else who’s watching them.

By the time Wedge makes it out the front door, Luke has already started up the front steps. When he sees Wedge, he abandons his bag and dashes up the remaining steps, meeting Wedge and pulling him in for a fierce hug that lifts Wedge off his feet. Wedge goes with it, throwing his arms around Luke’s neck and burying his face in Luke’s hair, delighted to be back with the person he loves the most.

Luke twirls Wedge around with wild abandon, exuberant in his joy, before setting him back on his feet again. He doesn’t let Wedge go from his embrace. His hands crawl up Wedge’s back, gripping close, and they share a moment of silence, safe in each other’s touch once more.

Then Wedge breaks the silence. “I missed you,” he mutters, carding a hand through Luke’s hair.

“I missed you too,” Luke responds, pulling Wedge close so that his lips brush Wedge’s neck. “Force, I missed you in every moment, every second, I never stopped thinking of you.” Luke’s breath is hot as he murmurs the words, close to Wedge’s ear, his voice low and the sweetest thing Wedge has heard in weeks. “You know what kept me going?” He presses a kiss just under Wedge’s ear, at the edge of his jaw, the touch feather-light but full of so much promise.

“What?” Luke’s question was near rhetorical; he’ll tell Wedge whether Wedge asks or not. But it’s nice to ask, to turn his head towards Luke and wonder.

Luke lifts his head, suddenly utterly serious. His eyes are bright and focused directly on Wedge; his smile is soft and wanting. A dusting of pink crosses his cheeks, almost as if he’s embarrassed about what he’s about to say. “You, love.” Gentle fingers caress Wedge’s cheek, almost uncertain; like Luke can barely believe that Wedge is in front of him, that he is _home_. “The knowledge that I had _you_ to come home to.”

It’s difficult not to just melt into Luke’s arms as he says that, with the same simple fierce intensity he’s always had. Wedge manages to collect himself just long enough to lean forward to capture Luke’s mouth in a kiss, the first time he’s kissed Luke in _weeks_. Standing there, in Luke’s arms, the kiss just intense enough to be reassuring; it’s not passion, just intimate, reconnecting two people after a long absence. The whole universe could pass them by, and still all they would care for is the other.

In a moment where they part, just quickly, for breath, Wedge whispers “Love you,” into Luke’s mouth, before angling his head to deepen the kiss. They breathe each other in for a long while. Luke repeats the sentiment as they both draw away, taking a minute to just breathe and lean against each other.

Happily reunited, Luke doubles back to collect the bag he’d dropped in his elation. He swings it over his shoulder, falling in step besides Wedge. “So, how have things been whilst I’ve been gone? Have you managed to keep yourself busy?”

“Well,” Wedge says. “I’ve been busy enough.” Change is imminent, in the air, hanging over Wedge like an uncertain cloud. There are things Luke needs to know. But for now, it’s enough that Luke is back with him. Everything else can wait until after Luke has got himself settled. “There is something you should know though – Mirax is here.”

“You finally called her, eh?”

“I did, and she bit my head off – also, I think she probably has five million questions for you, and a shovel talk, so—” Wedge stops, gaze bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that.”

“Love—” Luke leans in to kiss Wedge once again. “Don’t worry about it.”

.

Luke manages to stay awake for introductions to Mirax and a late breakfast, and then starts to drop off. He protests he’s fine, but it’s clear that he isn’t, so Wedge hurries him off to nap.

Part of him is a little smug at the change in circumstances. After tucking him in – Luke is fast asleep astonishingly quickly once he’s in a warm bed – Wedge lies beside Luke, watching him sleep, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He’s done this a couple of times before, when they were younger, Luke a brash commander who didn’t always know his own limits and sometimes needed to be almost sat on to get an adequate amount of rest. Wedge slips into an easy doze, curled up around Luke, reassuring himself that Luke is actually back, and here with him. He never truly falls asleep; his hands continue to trace patterns into Luke’s skin.

Luke wakes a couple of hours later, to Wedge curled around him, fingers lightly stroking at his sides in a way that is almost ticklish. He leans back into Wedge, enjoying the warm embrace that he’s missed for weeks, and turns his head just enough to brush a kiss again Wedge’s jawline. “That’s nice,” he whispers, words slurred by sleep. “Missed this.”

Wedge hums. Luke can feel the vibration buzz through the both of them; it’s pleasant, reassuring: it feels like home, here in Wedge’s arms. Even if Wedge’s fingers are dancing across soft skin in a way that is making laughter rise up in Luke’s chest. He vaguely swats at Wedge’s hands, wanting them to calm back down, but Wedge doesn’t. If anything, he takes it as a prompt to keep going, fingers pushing into all of Luke’s weak spots.

“Wedge,” Luke warns. “Do you really want to keep going with that?”

Fingers keep dancing across Luke’s sides as Wedge shows no sign of heeding Luke’s warning. A laugh escapes Luke’s mouth; he’s not ticklish as a rule but it’s difficult to resist. Wedge grins in satisfaction and that’s that: Luke has had enough.

He launches himself at Wedge, rolling into the other man until he’s the one on top, pinning Wedge down. His fingers go to Wedge’s sides and bright laughter erupts out of Wedge, even as he pushes Luke away with one hand and tries to get some leverage back.

Luke continues his assault as Wedge writhes beneath him, hapless in the face of Luke’s strength. But he still puts up a fight, so Luke brings his knees in tight – which results in him straddling Wedge. “You ready to surrender?” Luke asks, a big grin on his face.

“Never,” Wedge replies, through laughter. It’s clear he’s fighting a losing battle. His laughter has given way to full-body shakes, and he’s trying to push Luke away and roll him over, to no avail.

Luke just presses down harder, draping his entire body over the top of Wedge. He ducks his head into the juncture of Wedge’s shoulder, and presses a kiss to his neck. Wedge instantly calms, even though Luke is still prodding at his sides. Another kiss is pressed to Wedge’s neck, this one open and wet, and then Luke’s tongue laps at Wedge’s pulse point.

“Oh,” Wedge says, and all pretence at rough-housing is abandoned in favour of the intimate touch.

Luke drags his mouth across Wedge’s jaw, and takes a moment to look at him. Wedge stares back, rapt and adoring of the man he loves, and then Luke kisses him, bringing their mouths together. Wedge’s hands clutch in Luke’s hair, pulling him close.

It’s another couple of hours before they emerge to go and see the rest of the inhabitants of the house; time they put to good use re-learning each other, touching and kissing and whispering words of love to the other.

.

Wedge doesn’t immediately mention all that’s about to change. He wants to keep some semblance of normality for just a bit. Over dinner, Luke tells them all of the adventures he had whilst he was away; afterwards, he tells Wedge some more, the pieces that he’s too afraid to entrust to anyone else. Wedge is happy being Luke’s confidant, to take on the other man’s fears and worries.

The next morning is bright and sunny; the pair of them share a shower, laughing and kissing through it all, spending as much time pressed against each other as they do washing themselves. In Wedge’s physical therapy session, Luke makes an off-hand comment about wanting to go out into the mountains, see the hills in the valley, sights he hadn’t realised he’d miss. Although Varéna issues a hasty dismissal of the idea that Wedge could climb up mountains, she approves the idea of a short walk around the edge of the lake.

So they set off, Luke armed with a picnic basket, Wedge with his cane in hand. It’s slow progress, especially through the wooded overgrowth that leads down to the lakeshore path, but they manage it alright. And once they’ve hit the lakeshore, the view is spectacular, midday light bouncing off the lake and illuminating the hills that climb out the valley.

They find a little clearing, a good way up the lake, and a vantage point from which they can look back at Varykino. Tired out from the walk, Wedge tucks into the food with considerable gusto, and then – having demolished everything that they brought with them – he settles between Luke’s legs, and lays his head down in Luke’s lap.

Combing a hand through Wedge’s hair, Luke smiles down at him. “I missed this,” he says, fingers lingering on the edge of Wedge’s jaw.

“I missed you too,” Wedge replies, because no matter how many times he says it it’s still true.

“But you’ve been keeping well enough? I really didn’t mean to be gone for so long—”

“I’ve been fine, dear.” Wedge leans his head up and angles it just enough so that he can kiss Luke. “I really have.” And then, because Wedge will possibly never have a more ideal opening, he decides to tell Luke. “They’re given me a date for my military reassessment.”

Luke furrows his brow. “Are you really well enough for that?”

“I’m about as well as I’m going to get, honestly. And I’m never going to work out if I can fly again unless I get back into the cockpit. I’ve got to try, Luke—”

“I know.” Luke laces his fingers through Wedge’s, bringing their entwined hands to rest on Wedge’s chest. “You’ve got unfinished business there, I know you do.”

“You’ve got things to do too.” Wedge looks up at Luke. “We’ve spent long enough here, we’ve both got things from our lives we’ve got to sort out.”

Luke sighs. It’s the truth. He knew, all the time he was away, comments about how long it’s been since anyone saw him – the galaxy needs her Jedi back, fighting for her people. It doesn’t mean that he can’t love Wedge, but the man can no longer be the sole holder of his attention.

“When is it?” Wedge gives him a date. “Love, that’s only a little over two weeks. That’s barely any time at all!”

“I know.” Wedge pushes himself up and out of Luke’s lap, sitting up and turning so that he can look at Luke directly. “But the Hosnian System isn’t too far from here, and you can come with me – at least for that bit. I thought that we might be able to set up a home base there, it’s probably the best place for one…”

Wedge shuts his mouth when he’s realises it’s run away from him, saying all the stuff that he meant to save for later, for when he’s given Luke his gift and broken Ryshcate with him.

“I want that,” Luke says quietly, mistaking Wedge’s silence for regret. “I want to try and build a home with you, love.”

Wedge nods. “I want that too,” he says, just to confirm it. “Have dinner with me. Tonight. Just … I want to say some things, and I want to say them properly.”

Luke looks surprised, but he accepts it easily enough. “If that’s what you want. It sounds nice.”

Wedge shuffles across the picnic blanket, leaning in against Luke’s side. “I think it’s for the best.” Dinner is a chance to share things, to talk, a setting against which the weight of the promise Wedge wants to make will be understood.

“And for now, we should leave the subject?” Luke’s tone has returned to lightness.

Wedge lays his head against Luke’s shoulder. “For now I want to just _be._ ”

.

Laverna cooks for them that night, because despite everything, Wedge’s cooking skills have not improved one iota. There’s no need to scare Luke off over them. The meal she makes is traditional, solid and hearty, the sort of food Wedge remembers from those rare occasions in his childhood where his parents had time to cook and sit with him.

He and Luke sit close as they share the food, chairs close enough that they’re touching. Despite having the same thing, both of them keep offering the other bits and pieces from their plates. It’s the intimacy, rather than the food, that they’re both enjoying. And when they’ve finished the main course, it takes every ounce of Wedge’s strength to disentangle himself from Luke, to take the plates back to the kitchen, and collect the warmed Ryshcate, bottle of Corellian brandy, and to check that his gift for Luke is still in his pocket.

“Good luck,” Mirax wishes him, with a cheeky smile.

“It’s not a proposal,” Wedge reiterates, for possibly the hundredth time. But he knows Mirax understands the gesture, perhaps more than anyone else Wedge knows, knows how much it means for Wedge to put his heart and happiness on the line like this.

“Sure it ain’t.” Mirax presses a kiss to his cheek anyway, and then lets him get back to Luke.

Luke whistles low when he sees what Wedge has brought. “Whyren’s Reserve? You’re spoiling me, love.” Wedge just sets it on the table, along with the Ryshcate, and then retrieves two glasses from the sideboard. “And… Wedge…”

The widening of Luke’s eyes, as he looks across at Wedge with affection and just a little surprise, tells Wedge that he knows exactly what’s on the table before him.

“We break Ryshcate in the sharing of heart and home,” Wedge says. He’d rehearsed this, but in front of Luke all his preparations fall away, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“I know,” Luke says, a little fast. “I know Wedge. Han’s explained. I’ve broken Ryshcate with him and Leia, we’re family, I know what this means.”

Wedge had suspected that Luke did know the meaning, but it’s a relief to have it confirmed, to know that he isn’t going to have to talk Luke through the sanctity of the gesture. “This is my mother’s Ryshcate. I asked Mirax for the recipe. I needed to have a part of her with me.”

“You made this?”

There’s the slightest hint of concern to Luke’s expression. “I had a lot of help from Mirax and Laverna, don’t you worry.” Wedge takes his seat, pulling it out at an angle to face Luke. He momentarily busies himself with the pouring of the whiskey into the glasses, before he turns back to Luke, to offer him a glass. “You’re always supposed to make the Ryshcate yourself. The Corellian diaspora has put paid to that tradition – we don’t hold it up as the law it was a hundred years ago. But I needed to do this for you.”

Luke reaches across, to place a hand on Wedge’s arm. “Wedge,” he says, his voice thick with adoration, the sweetness leaching into his tone. “I love you. I’d love to break Ryshcate with you, under whichever traditions you hold most dear.”

Wedge nods, and takes a sip of his whiskey. His nerves are starting to get the best of him. He’s fought in some of the worst battles of the Galactic Civil War, but he’s never been as nervous as he is with Luke. “We drink,” he says, trying to keep his words steady. “And whoever is head of the family, or whoever issued the invitation, they say the blessing. And then we eat.”

Luke fingers the edge of his glass. “Should we get Mirax, and the others? If this is supposed to be about family.”

“No.” Wedge’s hand curls around Luke’s wrist, pulling him down into his seat again. “I mean, yes. That would be tradition. But I’d have my parents here, and we’d do an exchange with your family too, and bring them together, and…”

“Wedge.” Luke is leaning forward, hands on Wedge’s knees, the warmth of his breath ghosting across Wedge’s lips. He presses all the way in, brushing his lips across Wedge’s. “It’s alright.”

“I thought I had this all planned out.” Wedge says it under his breath, not really meaning for Luke to overhear him. “And then I look at you and all the words I mean to say fall out my head.”

Luke furrows his brow. He draws back, scrutinising Wedge. “Is this a proposal?” he asks, the entire situation sinking in.

Wedge pulls the gift box from his pocket and watches as Luke’s eyes widen. “It’s a promise,” he says. “That I love you, and I want to be with you, no matter how difficult that might be, and that someday we’ll work this entire thing out and actually be a family. That the fact that I’m returning to the service doesn’t mean I love you any less, it’s just something that I have to do.”

Luke is silent, taking all of Wedge’s words in. And then he leans across to take the gift box, flicking it open. Inside it lies the pendant that Wedge worked so hard on, a gift that he’s now having so many doubts about whether it was the right choice. Luke’s expression is inscrutable. But he brushes his fingers against the metal, and closes his eyes, and Wedge thinks: _oh._

He’d spent every moment on that gift thinking of how much he loved Luke, and how much he wanted the gift to be something worthy of him: how much the weight of tradition had influenced his choices, but how much he wanted it to be personal. And he guesses that that made its mark, that Luke can read an impression off the object.

Luke doesn’t take it out of its box. He lays it back on the table, taking a deep breath. Wedge would be concerned, but his mouth is twitched into a smile. He moves to reach something from his pocket, and brings out a carved piece of stone, laying it into Wedge’s hands.

“I made it while I was away, thinking of you,” Luke explains. Wedge turns it over in his hands; it’s exquisite, with pretty colours running through it, deep lines scored that create a pattern. And it’s solid in Wedge’s hands. “My mother was buried with a Japor snippet; it was a gift from my father. I missed you and so I made this and I wondered whether it was too soon to give it to you, but I love you and I don’t want you to ever think that I don’t.”

Luke’s words are as nervous as Wedge’s were, but the sentiment is the same; near exact. They’d both had the same intentions. They both want the same things. The tension, that Wedge has been holding tight inside himself since the moment he decided that he wanted to do this, suddenly loosens, a flood of calm washing over him. Luke wants this just as much as he does.

“I thought you could keep it with you, just to remind you that I _do_ love you, that you are never far from my thoughts – I’m not sure you ever really leave them, I’ll be honest—” Luke’s rambling, trying to fill the silence Wedge has left. “In a pocket or I guess we can hang it on something, if that would be easier—”

“I love it,” Wedge says, suddenly realising that he’s not said it. “I love you. That you’d think of me, and make something like this—” Wedge finds himself blinking back tears, happy tears.

Luke leans over to wipe them away. “None of that,” he teases, ignoring the fact that his own eyes are glistening. “I love you,” he says again, pressing his forehead to Wedge’s. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He repeats the words like a litany.

“I know, I know, I know—” Wedge responds, just as desperate. His hands come up to clutch Luke’s face, holding close, not quite believing; the solidity of touch, of Luke’s cheeks beneath his palms, goes some way to quelling his fears. “I love you, Luke.”

With a gasp, Luke tilts his head up to kiss Wedge. His hands tangle in the short hair at the back of Wedge’s neck and both of them just cling to the other, kissing soft and wet and full of long-held affection.

“I promise,” Luke says, wiping another trail of tears from Wedge’s eyes. “Oh love, I promise you that I’m going to do whatever I can to make this work. I love you. I want this, I want all of it, the good days, the bad—” Another kiss, Wedge desperately muffling his words. “I love you.”

Wedge, not trusting his words, just nods. After a long moment, Wedge reaches for the battered chunk of his X-Wing, still in its box. With trembling fingers, he manages to undo the chain, and Luke ducks his head to let Wedge drape it round his neck. The clasp takes a moment to close, but Wedge manages it. His fingers follow the chain back round, coming to rest on the pendant, hanging just below the hollow of Luke’s neck.

“I love you,” Wedge whispers, once more, as if there was any doubt of it left, and Luke kisses him again.

.

Wedge is busy packing the last of his things into a bag when he becomes aware of a lurking presence by the door. Stuffing a jacket atop his bag, Wedge turns to see Jahon. “So,” is all Jahon says.

“So,” Wedge replies, after a moment of silence where Jahon doesn’t add anything on to his hanging statement. “I guess this is it.”

In less than an hour, a transport is due to arrive for Wedge and Luke that will take them from Varykino back to Theed. Once they are in Theed, there is the small matter of a minor farewell reception from the Queen, but by nightfall they will be heading off planet, away to Hosnian Prime. There, Leia has arranged a temporary apartment for them, whilst Wedge undergoes his mandatory assessment and the military determines whether he is fit for active service. And Wedge and Luke will attempt to work out what they will make of their lives from there, the details of how they’ll make it work. Luke has Jedi business to get back to. Wedge – with any luck – will have some semblance of a military career.

“I guess it is,” Jahon replies. He shuffles, hands in his pockets, unexpectedly awkward about the entire affair. He’s not usually one who is lost for words.

“Thanks.” Jahon looks a little startled as Wedge speaks. “I mean it, and it feels a little inadequate. But I don’t know if you know just how much good you’ve done. You’ve been there for me every day and nursed me through my recovery with a hell of a lot of care, and I know I’m not the easiest of patients. You made this a lot better than it could have been. And…” Wedge turns a little bashful. “I know you’re at least partially responsible for getting Luke and me to admit to everything, so I guess I owe you some thanks there too.”

“Don’t mention it,” and the look on Jahon’s face suggests that really, he doesn’t want to hear anymore about relationship shenanigans than he already has. “I’m just glad you got better. When I read the report that Dr Kalonia sent over, I had my doubts. But you managed it.”

Wedge has come a long way from when he arrived on Varykino, barely able to move, in as much pain as he’s ever been in his life and so uncertain as to what Luke was doing there. It’s taken hours of work, and a heck of a lot of dedication on the part of a great many people: Jahon is a key piece of Wedge’s recovery.

“Well, with any luck I won’t get myself injured anytime soon, though with my luck—” Wedge’s tone is convivial.

“Give me a call.” Jahon is earnest in his response.

“I will,” though Wedge has no intention of ever getting in a scrape this bad again. He shakes hands with Jahon: he truly is grateful, for the nurse who took charge after Luke sent all the doctors who were causing Wedge such pain away, and has nursed him through good and bad ever since.

Wedge finishes his packing in silence. He doesn’t have too much stuff, though it’s grown over the near year they’ve spent here. The last thing in his bag is Kettch, who Wedge almost leaves behind – but honestly, as much as he despised Janson’s gag gift at first, Wedge has grown rather fond of the Ewok toy.

Not that he’ll ever tell Wes that.

Jahon appears, as silently as he disappeared, to help Wedge carry his bags. Wedge takes one last look out of the window, across the balcony to the lake. He thinks that they’ll be back some day – there will always be a part of them that’s stuck here – but it won’t be for a while. He’ll have to live without the breath-taking view that he’s become accustomed to. Wherever Leia has set them up on Hosnian Prime, there isn’t a chance it’ll be this pretty.

But it will still have Luke. Who is waiting for Wedge on the front porch, quietly saying his own goodbyes to Eirtaé. Wedge thinks they’ll be seeing her again, too; she’s become close to Luke, to both of them, a connection to Luke’s mother that Luke barely dared to dream he’d ever have. The speeder car lies below, already ready for them. Jahon takes the solitary bag Wedge is carrying, ferrying it to the car.

“Thank you,” Wedge says to Eirtaé, words that once again feel inadequate in the face of all these people have given them. “You made our time here so pleasant. We owe you a great debt.”

“Not at all Wedge,” she replies. “I am only glad that I got a chance to know one of Padmé’s children, and the man he has chosen to love. You are both good souls. I wish you good luck and safe travels amongst the stars.”

“I wish you good fortune and a prosperous life upon this earth.” Wedge uses the traditional reply to her blessing, and inclines his head.

With their goodbyes said, Luke takes Wedge’s hand and walks him slowly down the steps. At the bottom, they pause, and look back over the house that has been their home for all these months. It rises out of the landscape with a degree of majesty, the sun sparkling off the roof. The lake isn’t visible from here but the scent of the water carries in the air. They’ll both miss it. The house has been good to them; the perfect place for not only a recuperation, but a romance. This will always be the place that they fell in love for a lifetime.

But with Wedge healed, it’s time for them to move on. To a new place, and a new home, and a new life: together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me and reading :D <3 I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. For now, I'm going to go drop off in bed somewhere because I am crazy tired - I will desconstruct with proper thanks tomorrow!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Princess and a Pilot walk into a Bar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824985) by [yunmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin)




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